Lovely Penmanship
by Totally-Out-Of-It
Summary: When Stiles, scribe to Lady Kate Argent, is instructed to write a love letter to Lord Derek Hale in her stead, he has no idea that this series of letters will begin an affair under the noses of his employers and reveal secrets long hidden. All he knows is 'Dear Derek' has some very lovely penmanship. Mentions of abuse. Some graphic violence and explicit sexual scenes. Sterek.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This is a victorian-ish setting. Not strictly victorian, as I'm not an expert, but I did a lot of research into titles and peerage to try and get a lot of it right. Please enjoy.

* * *

The door to Stiles' small room slammed against the wall with the force of the shove that had opened it. Blearily, he blinked away the sleep in his eyes and sat up. A normal person would have startled awake, but not Stiles. Being woken up in this manner was entirely too common for him to be surprised. Instead he took his time stretching and even threw in an exaggerated yawn. The woman at the door tapped her foot impatiently.

"If you make me wait all day, I'll make sure your shoes go missing," she threatened in the sweetest voice.

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Stiles picked up his pace. He swung his legs over the edge of the short bed and dug into the broken top drawer of the tiny dresser by his headboard. Huffing in annoyance, the woman stormed out of view, but Stiles knew she wasn't dismissing him. She expected him in the sitting room in five minutes, as usual. And she'd time him too.

After quickly pulling on his clothes, Stiles stuffed his feet into house shoes and left the room, closing the door gently behind him so it wouldn't fall off its hinges. It had done that once, when Stiles had been raving about the fact that his door was treated so poorly and had slammed it back shut. If it broke again, it would just mean he'd have to fix it again, and he'd rather not.

He combed his hair with his fingers as he walked, and while that wasn't good enough for polite society, it would be good enough for this. A young maid smiled at him and his disheveled hair when she entered the same hall as him, and he grinned right back at her. Her arms were full of freshly washed and folded towels, but that didn't stop her from being the quickest maid in the household.

"Morning, Caitlyn," he greeted smoothly. "You look as lovely as ever."

"Oh shut up, Stiles," she said, but she smiled wider and rolled her eyes affectionately. Without prompting, the maid pulled a sprig of mint from her apron pocket and handed it to him as they passed.

"Thank you, ma'am," he said with an exaggerated bow, turning backwards so as to face her.

Again she rolled her eyes. "Shut _up_ , Stiles," she said again, but he could hear her laughing as she turned a corner.

Popping the mint into his mouth, Stiles continued on his walk. He chewed up the herb and rubbed it all around the roof of his mouth before swallowing it, then he ran his tongue over his teeth to get any remaining bits. At the end of the hall, he saw an open door, but he paused before he came up to it. Holding his hand up to his mouth, he tested his breath and smelled only mint. Perfect.

He ran his hands once more through his hair and then stepped into view of the door. He wasn't even across the threshold before _she_ started talking.

"About time," she said. "I've been waiting for over an hour."

"You woke me up four minutes ago," Stiles pointed out.

The room held a large, u-shaped couch, which she was leaning back on. There was also a decent sized wooden table with four chairs set up on the side of the room, but Stiles didn't sit on either option. Instead he moved briskly to the small writing desk in the corner, opposite the party table. He opened the drawer on the desk and pulled out a few sheets of paper, then opened another drawer for his ink.

"Well I've been awake for over an hour, waiting for your lazy butt to get out of bed," she corrected. "Are you ready to scribe or not?"

Stiles dipped his quill, gently tapped the excess off the tip, and poised his hand over the paper. "Who are we writing to today, Miss Argent?"

The Lady Katherine "Kate" Argent was a woman of good breeding – great breeding, actually. The Argent family had a strong, rich heritage going back several hundred years, and Kate never let anyone forget it. She held the title of Baroness of Goodwater, though she never proudly told anyone. Goodwater was a small county of no particular importance that she earned through business, not breeding, so she preferred to tout her father's title and introduce herself as The Lady Katherine, daughter of Argent, The Earl of Gévaudan.

She was a powerful, controlling blonde woman, who liked everything to go her way and was not afraid to use her family name to make sure things did. Stiles working for her was just one example of her abuse of power, because there was no chance he'd ever work for her without a fight otherwise.

She was short tempered, overly sexual, and had a skill for making people squirm. To her friends, she was a prized ally and good for protection in society, but to everyone else she was a promise of trouble. Maybe she wouldn't burn down your house or frame you for murder, but maybe she would. Stiles really wouldn't put it past her. He'd seen her sweetly threaten a younger woman into abandoning the love of her life, leaving the woman in a wreck of tears she couldn't recover from before leaving the house. He'd written letters of complaint for her that ended people's careers and, he suspected, were mostly filled with lies. And he'd listened to her talk about men and women of her acquaintance like dolls she could play with, her large mouth laughing at every scheme.

Stiles hated her.

"Address the letter to Mr. Derek Hale," Kate said from her lounging position. She sounded curt, as though the thought of the letter to come was unpleasant. Stiles hoped Derek Hale was a debt collector or something equally horrible, because he'd love to pen a letter for Kate Argent that was full of begging and apologies. "The salutation should be 'Dearest Derek', unless you can think of something sweeter."

So not a debt collector, then.

"And the contents?" Stiles asked, his fingers creating delicate, curved art out of the simple letters of Derek's name.

"I need to start a correspondence with him, so make sure you ask a few questions to ensure his response. But I also need to be charming. Today, with this letter, I'm going to woo the pants off that silly man once and for all." Kate smirked and let out one of her soft, but very evil, laughs. At least, Stiles always thought it sounded very evil – more than a regular level of evil. "We haven't seen each other in a few years, but I'm sure I left a lasting impression. Trust me. You lay on a little charm and he'll open right up for me."

Stiles began to scribble a few lines of his draft. "Why go through so much trouble for a man you haven't seen in years?"

"That's not your concern. Just write an exemplary letter, so we can get on with the seduction." Kate stood from her seat and began to pace. As she walked the room, she listed off things she knew about Derek to help Stiles get the letter right. "He's undeniably handsome. Oh, when I think of those little abs of his-" She made a sound that was both pleasure and pain, and Stiles wasn't sure what that meant for Derek Hale. "He's got a tight little ass, too, and green eyes to die for. Even when he was younger, he was delectable. I'm sure he's only gotten juicier with age."

"Exactly how long has it been since you've seen this guy?" Stiles asked, pausing to watch her movement across the room.

"Eight years? Ten? But trust me, I know Derek Hale, and he's the man I need. He'll fit nicely into this plan." Her voice lowered into a mumble by the time she finished speaking, and her hand cupped her own chin as she devolved into thought.

For his part, Stiles was stunned. Ten years? She was trying to woo a man she hadn't seen since she was Stiles' age? That was a long time ago, and she just expected him to still be single? If he was as handsome as she claimed, surely he would be married by now. Or at the very least, he would be beyond her wiles after such a long separation.

He cleared his throat, about to voice his thoughts, and she spun to face him. Her face wasn't angry, just blank, and suddenly Stiles remembered that his livelihood was held in her manicured hands. Maybe pointing out that he didn't think her plan would work wasn't the best course of action. A delicate eyebrow rose as she grew impatient to hear him speak.

He cleared his throat again. "Any… Anything not physical about him that I should know?" he asked, grasping at the first clear thought he had.

Now Kate raised both eyebrows, looking a little taken aback. "Not physical?" she asked. Confusion clouded her eyes for a moment, but she soon smiled like a devious kitten. "He's a little naïve. Butter him up and he'll believe just about anything you say. I used to trick him into believing lies about his sisters all the time."

"Family!" Stiles interrupted, a bit too loudly. "Tell me about his family." God, did Kate not know how to describe people beyond their looks and pliability?

Sighing in annoyance, Kate returned to the couch. "I suppose you want to know that he has both parents still alive. His father holds a title, like mine, but Derek does not. He is the oldest of five children, with… I believe it was three sisters and one brother. Or else two of each. Derek is set to inherit ninety percent of his father's property and wealth when the man dies, which makes Derek a very rich man. He will be the master of three counties, as well as controlling some foreign properties."

A bell rang out in another part of the house, and Kate jumped up from her seat. It was the call for breakfast, and it made Stiles realize how hungry he was. Kate turned and pointed a finger at him.

"Finish the letter. Then, and only then, can you come down to breakfast," she said. Stiles bit his tongue on a comeback that pointed out that they weren't upstairs so there was nowhere to 'come down' to. Instead he glowered at her, which seemed to please her. She smirked before striding from the room, shutting the door behind herself.

If Stiles went to breakfast anyway, she'd just tell the servants not to feed him. If he claimed he'd already finished writing, she'd want to see proof. The only thing to do now was to focus on writing. Sighing, Stiles tested the ink in his quill and then set about composing the letter for the mistress that he hated.

 _Dearest Derek Hale,_

 _It has been far too many years since we last saw each other. I long to hear how your family is fairing these days. You may remember how fond I was of your darling sisters, always teasing them as if they were my own. I hope your parents are both in good health as well. The report around town is that your family is splendid, but you know as well as I do that gossip cannot always be trusted. I mean to have the account from the source, by which I mean from your lips, your hands alone. Tell me everything I have missed these past years. Goodness, it's almost a decade, if I'm remembering right. Far too long._

 _I expect you are just as handsome as when we were younger, and that you are no longer a single man. But if you do happen to find yourself unattached, count me a happy woman. I offer my services to assist you in finding your perfect match. Finding lovers is a special skill of mine, you know, and I would be glad to help you find yours. I miss you and your green eyes dearly. Please do me the honor of a quick response._

 _Fondly, Katherine Argent_


	2. Chapter 2

Squinting into the mirror, Stiles gingerly touched the swell on his cheek. The skin was red and irritated, swollen to almost twice the size of his other cheek. It made his face look ridiculous. Whenever his finger grazed the skin, he hissed and flinched, but he kept doing it anyway, trying to feel out the edge of the main damage.

"Stop hurting yourself," a female voice called from his door. "Didn't Kate hurt you enough for one day's worth of pain?"

Without turning, Stiles obeyed her, dropping his hands to his lap and closing the tiny mirror. "I can't help it, Allison. She made me look like an idiot. My face is too weird to be shown in public. I'm going to be a recluse for the rest of my life!"

Allison snorted and walked the short distance between them. Sitting beside him, she held a cool bag against his injured cheek. "You don't look so bad as that. Here. Hold this against it and it'll bring the swelling down."

"I think I've been hurt enough to know basic after care," Stiles argued, but he took over holding the bag anyway.

"And yet you didn't go get anything cold on your own." Allison sat back on the bed and sighed. "What did you do to make her angry this time?"

Stiles shifted until he could rest his temple on Allison's shoulder. It tugged a little on his cheek, but he endured the minor discomfort for the intimacy. "I wrote a letter to Derek Hale that said 'you're probably single'. She's trying to flirt with him and apparently I'm trying to sabotage her. I told her I was trying to be coy in the letter. If we were too direct, he might bolt, you know? She hasn't seen him in ten years. What did she want me to do, confess love and propose marriage? I mean eventually she agreed with me, but she smacked me again anyway for raising my voice at her. There is something deeply wrong with your aunt. I'm sorry, Allison, but there is."

She laughed. "You think I don't know that? There's a reason my father doesn't attend parties with her. It's too stressful. No matter what she's doing, a dozen people will come up to us and make comments about it."

Stiles hadn't been to many parties lately. He wasn't a rich gentleman like Chris Argent, Allison's father, and no one ever sent invitations to a scribe. Early in his employment, he'd tagged along with Allison to an open event and was barraged by the same nosey people who complain about Kate. They wanted to know about Stiles' father, about his estate, about his job. It was suffocating, and Allison had graciously attended him home long before the party ended. Even early in their acquaintance, Allison had been a true friend.

"I wish there was something more I could do about your situation," Allison remarked with a sigh, leaning back and staring at the ceiling. "I hate that she can do things to hurt you and get away with it. You're nearly one of us."

"Was," Stiles corrected. "I haven't been a gentleman in years. And if your aunt has anything to say about it, I'll never be a respectable gentleman again. It's probably too late already. I'm sure no one talks about my family in positive terms anymore."

Allison took a moment to think, pursing her lips, before she frowned. "I don't think people talk about your family at all anymore. You were a popular subject for a year or so but it's all died off now. I think you could even attend a party and not have a repeat of last time. Speaking of, you should come to the play tomorrow night. Even if your face is still swollen, it'll be too dark for most people to notice!"

Her excitement was endearing, but he still declined. It had been a long, long time since plays and parties had been places he was welcome at.

The letter from Derek Hale arrived two mornings after Stiles had posted the original. An under-butler delivered it to Stiles while he was in the midst of assisting a gardener with the firewood. By assisting, Stiles mostly meant keeping the other guy's spirits up. The gardener groaned about being tired after a few logs and Stiles cheered him on to boost his spirits.

"Think of all the suitors you'll have when they see your impressive, muscular arms, though," he'd say. The gardener would laugh and be ready to swing again. Stiles did get in a few whacks of his own, of course, but he'd barely begun to sweat when the under-butler found him.

He accepted the missive and sent the butler on his way. He really hoped the letter contained a good response, because he didn't want to imagine the punishment he'd receive if Mr. Hale had answered 'do not attempt to contact me with your silly flirtations ever again'. Worse yet, what if his response said he was engaged? That certainly didn't fit into Kate's plans for wooing him. Stiles touched his still tender cheek, which had begun to ache in response to his thoughts.

Stiles waved a servant over and tasked the man with finding Kate, mostly so he wouldn't have to go find her himself. He'd meet her in the sitting room. If she took her usual time, he'd have enough time to read the letter by himself. If it was bad, it was possible he could lie about the contents. Or, if given enough time, he could write a new one. She'd never have to know… right?

Shoulders tense, Stiles entered the sitting room, crossed to the desk, and snatched up the letter opener. He could feel his heart in his throat and took a deep breath to calm his nerves. There had to be a bright side, some hope. Kate had said Derek wasn't the brightest man. Perhaps he'd fall for her charms, albeit ones written by Stiles. Perhaps he'd truly fawn over her like he used to. Yes, everything would be fine.

He slid the letter opener through the seal and set it back down. It was the moment of truth.

' _Lady Argent,'_ it began. Ouch. No first name basis, then. Maybe he wasn't as dumb as Kate hoped. Ten years was a lot of time to grow up in, after all.

The door to the study burst open, and Kate arrived in a flurry of untailored skirts. Pins were still sticking in the fabric, and the tailor trailed behind her, flustered and anxious. It was clearly a ball gown, though perhaps a bit more flashy than any Stiles had ever seen. Unhemmed and untailored as it was now, it swam on Kate's strong form and looked rather awful. Stiles barely kept his comments to himself, but self-preservation was a learned skill.

"Well?" Kate demanded after a minute of them just staring at each other. She motioned furiously to the letter in Stiles' hand. "Has sweating made you dumb as well as a fool? Don't stand there like an idiot, Stilinski. What did he write?"

"Oh. Right." Stiles looked back down at the paper. He hadn't gotten past the greeting. Damn. He should have read it while he walked.

Clearing his throat, Stiles read aloud.

' _Lady Argent,_

 _Forgive my lack of pretty words. My family is currently without a scribe. Your own did an admirable job._

 _I was surprised by your letter. As you recounted, it has been a long nine years since we last saw one another. I thought we ended on a sour note, but it appears I was wrong. I cannot fit all of the goings on of my family for nine years into a single letter, so a summary will have to suit you._

 _My eldest sister, Laura, is lately married. My younger sister, Cora, is in training to be a huntress for the Duchess. My Uncle Peter is in town, making use of his degree in law. My brother Peter is soon to join him and hopes to become a righteous lawyer despite our uncle's influence. My mother and father both still reside at home and are in perfect health. I will not bore you with details about my father's work in managing the counties. I remember your disinterest in mundane affairs._

 _As to your query about my relationships, I am not currently attached. However, I decline your assistance in this matter. I am not interested in romance at the moment. Learning my father's business requires all my efforts._

 _Sincerely, Lord Derek Hale'_

When he finished, Stiles frowned. Although it had answered all of Kate's, or rather Stiles', questions, the letter itself was bland and cold. The answers were succinct. The information given was almost clerical. But the worst part of all was in the first paragraph.

' _Your scribe did an admirable job.'_

Admirable? That's it? Stiles had made Katherine Argent sound like a decent, caring human being, and Derek Hale had the gall to call that simply 'admirable'? It was amazing, is what it was! Derek should have said 'brilliant' or 'fantastic' or 'magnificent', but certainly not 'admirable'!

When Kate laughed, it startled Stiles out of his affront. He'd almost forgotten he wasn't alone.

"He's a terrible conversationalist, as always. But this is good. I'm not after him for his witty rapport, anyway. The important thing is you didn't run him off with your stupid question about his relationship status." She turned and took a few steps in her normal pacing before remembering her tailor was working on her and standing still again. The poor tailor let out a whine of frustration but said nothing.

"And your reply?" Stiles asked, trying to move her beyond complaining about him. He hated how she ragged on him for weeks about any minor thing she considered a slip up. She was relentless.

"Well of course you need to pen the reply immediately. We need to go for innocence. Dissuade him from thinking I'm interested only in his relationships. I may be trying to flirt, but I can do it with more style. I'm not throwing myself at his feet for him to trample on. I'm going to be the one making _him_ beg, not the other way around." She paused, realized she was on a tangent, and shook her head. "Tell him about my family. Remind him how strong the Argents are, how desirable a connection with us would be. Oh! Mention the grounds. Invite him to take a walk in our park. It may not be as grand as his estate, but the Argents will not be shamed by comparisons of size. Understand?"

"Oh absolutely," Stiles answered, voice full of sarcasm. His sass was either missed or ignored, either of which he accepted.

Without warning the tailor, Kate moved for the door again. A pin in the tailor's hand snagged when she jerked and tore an inch of the fabric. With an affronted sound, Kate glared down at the rip. "You better be able to fix that in time," she warned. Stiles felt his own expression turning into a glare, but his was aimed at Kate. She looked up at him, matching his hard stare for a long moment. Then she smirked, flaunting that she had the power. "Write the letter, Stiles. I want it done by the time I'm out of this monstrosity. Then you'll post it before dinner. Or else you won't have dinner."

Then she was gone, flustered tailor and all.

Stiles glared at the closed door for another moment before grumbling and flopping ungracefully into the desk chair. His father would have balked at the sight of his posture, but at that moment, Stiles was more upset at Kate than worried what his father would think. How dare she threaten the tailor for her own blunder? God, Stiles wished he could put her in her place.

In one hand he held Derek Hale's letter. In the other, the envelope. Without thinking, he crunched the envelope. Narrowing his eyes, he stared down at the pale paper. It hadn't felt normal when he'd clenched it. Carefully, he set the letter aside and smoothed the envelope back to its normal shape. There seemed to be something else inside.

It was… another letter? This one was folded thinner, so it would purposely get stuck in the bottom of the envelope and not pull out with the main letter. Curious, Stiles unfolded it and read.

' _To the scribe,_

 _I commend you for you pretty words. The Katherine Argent I knew in my youth could never have penned anything as human and sweet as you have produced. If I know Kate as well as I think I do, she won't open my letter herself, so she won't see this note to you. I also know that Katherine Argent doesn't do anything without a motive. I know I cannot trust her, but I am hoping I may trust you know her plans, please write and tell me what they are._

 _Derek Hale'_

Well.

He'd said 'pretty'… and 'sweet'. That was better than 'admirable', at least.

Maybe Derek Hale wasn't so bad after all. Plus he knew Kate was a lying bitch, so he had that going for him as well.

Smiling just a little, Stiles pulled out his paper and quill. He was going to write two letters this time.

 _Lord Derek Hale,_

 _I am Katherine Argent's scribe. You're welcome for the human form of my lady. Honestly, sifting through the endless information she gives me to find a few good lines to write for her is, indeed, a trial. But I endure the job, at least so much as any man can. I apologize for her sudden reappearance in your life. Apparently she's decided recently to woo you. I don't know why, but if I discover her deeper plans, I'll write to you straight away. You have my word._

 _Stiles_


	3. Chapter 3

To be a commissioned scribe was normally an honor. The children of middleclass families trained in writing until they received the badge that signified they were suited for the position. Lower class families saved up money in the hopes of sending their children through the same program. To possess a badge could mean a major improvement to your family's livelihood if you came from below the poverty line.

Upper class families and nobility hired the best scribes for their family use, while less prosperous families hired scribes on a job-by-job basis. If a family was particularly rich, they may employee two or three scribes – a different scribe for business as opposed to personal letters, or a scribe for the parents and one for the children, for example.

Yes, to employ a scribe was a status symbol, showing others that your household was lucrative enough to afford one. Letters written by scribes held a stamp in the corner to signify the prestige. Sure, the ladies and gentlemen could write their own letters, but to do so gave less reputation.

By any normal turn of events, Stiles would never have become a scribe. He didn't train for it. He took no classes. When Lady Katherine Argent had gotten her claws into him, she'd forced him to take the exam, the final step to receiving a scribe's badge. To no one's surprise, Stiles had passed flawlessly. The badge now had a permanent spot of honor on the writing desk Stiles had been given to work on. It was made of polished steel, perfected until it shone like silver. It was curved and shaped until it took the form of a solid circle with a feather pointing into it. The feather was engraved where it overlapped the circle and was mostly realistic despite its softened edges.

Stiles hated the badge, not because he hated the way it looked or the profession it represented, but because it was a symbol of how far he had fallen. It was a symbol of his current status, indebted to Katherine Argent.

He stared at the badge, his head lying on his arms, which were crossed on the desk. Sometimes the life of a scribe was boring. Kate had ordered him to stay home and wait for the post, in case Derek Hale happened to respond to her letter while she was out at a function in town. Normally, Stiles liked to walk the hills on the edge of the Argent main property or, if he was particularly unencumbered by his job, walk all the way into town to see the wares hanging in the shop windows.

But noooo. Not today. He was on glorified house arrest. He didn't even have Allison to keep him company. She was away at school and wouldn't return to the main house until well into the afternoon.

He hated that badge.

His stomach rumbling reminded him that he hadn't eaten in several hours, and he should probably hunt down his lunch in the kitchens. No sooner had he risen to act on that line of thinking than the doorbell chimed. Stiles checked the clock. They weren't expecting visitors. It was too late for a milk delivery.

Pursing his lips, Stiles strolled the halls until he made it to the entryway. The head butler was there, setting something down on the hall table.

"Reddick, what's going on?" Stiles asked, coming closer to peer over the dark man's shoulder.

"A letter arrived for Lady Katherine Argent. She can see it here when she returns. It is no business of yours," the older man said and sniffed in disapproval.

Stiles leveled the man with an unimpressed look. "Reddick, do you even understand what my job is? Letters are. Letters are literally my whole job. I was told to stay home today exactly in case a letter arrived. This is effectively my letter too. This letter is my job. My life, you might say. This letter-"

"Oh, dear God. Just take the letter and be gone, will you?" Reddick groaned and thrust the envelope at Stiles' chest. Once Stiles had it, the man turned and briskly left the area, desperate to escape Stiles' ranting.

Perfect. A little word vomit and Reddick would concede to whatever Stiles wanted. Worked every time.

Pocketing the letter, Stiles hurried into the sitting room. This time he absolutely had to read Derek's letter before Kate returned home. Once the door was securely shut behind him, Stiles pulled the letter out of his pocket and retrieved his opener. The letter for Kate slipped out immediately.

It was a formal reply, thanking Kate for her interest in his property but surprised by it all the same. Stiles was gathering the idea that Kate had never been interested in anyone's livelihood except her own, which was still true, so her interest now was shocking. Derek went on to thank her for her invitation to the Argent estate but also to politely decline. He was currently in the middle of business and could not get away. Perhaps in autumn, he said. Kate would not like that. The Argent estate was gorgeous in spring and summer, but it always seemed a bit dampened with the coolness of autumn. A dampened estate was not as impressive, regardless of size.

Derek's inquires about the family would be well received, and he seemed generally interested in the wellbeing of Kate's brother, The Honorable Christopher Argent, and his daughter. He knew, as much as any socially responsible gentleman, that Christopher was lately a widower. Unlike most people, Derek did not ask if Chris was looking to fill that role in his household. Stiles liked him even more for that, but it was always hard to tell sincerity in a letter. You couldn't read body language or vocal tone.

The letter ended without much pizzazz, but it was more than suitable for Kate. She would be happy about the length. Good.

Setting the first letter aside, Stiles reached back into the envelope and smiled. Just like before, a second letter was hidden inside. He couldn't help the way his heart pounded with excitement and anticipation. No one had written to Stiles in a long time, and the fact that the letters were a secret made for even more fun.

' _Mr. Stiles,_

 _Pardon my introduction. Is Stiles a surname or a given name? Regardless, it is an odd name. I've never met a Stiles before. I also found no documentation of a Stiles in the scribe records. I hope you aren't misleading me._

 _I cannot imagine ever working near Kate Argent, much less for her. I commend you for that kind of durability. She cannot be a very easy mistress. However, I hope that you at least find some comfort in her niece. Allison was always a sweet girl, even with a mother and aunt as strict and devious as she had. I can only hope she grew up as kind as I knew her, but with the ferocity of her father. He is a shrewd but likeable man, at least in matters of business._

 _Excuse me. I'm sure you have no interest in the business of running estates or the prattling of old men. I listen to it most days now, and I believe it has rubbed off on me, though I am not yet thirty-two. Responsibility and experience have a way of aging a person prematurely. Some days I feel as if I am twice my age. I wonder – if Kate Argent knew I was not the same boy she deluded all those years ago, would she still be interested in winning my affections? On the other hand, I'm sure my demeanor changes nothing about her plans, whatever they may be. Best wishes for your health and family,_

 _Derek Hale_

When he finished reading, Stiles had to squish his own cheeks, because he realized he'd accidentally started grinning. The letter wasn't even that joyful, but it made Stiles uncharacteristically happy. Had he mentioned he never got mail? Because he didn't. Ever. And this random gentleman took the time to write a letter to a scribe. A letter that rivaled the length of the one he wrote to an actual Earl's daughter, a true Lady. He didn't even care that he'd been partially insulted in the first paragraph. This was quite possibly the best day Stiles had experienced in a year.

He even got a fancy valediction. That was more than Katherine Argent could boast.

Speaking of Kate, Stiles didn't want to wait the long hours it would take her to return home and order him to write a response. Instead, he pulled out his ink well and paper right that moment and penned a potential response for Kate.

Kate's letter bemoaned the loss of Derek's visit. 'I cannot express enough mine or my family's disappointment.' But Stiles tempered the dramatic declarations with an easy and jovial invite for Derek to at least visit the county soon, for business if he must but preferably for pleasure. Gévaudan was a bountiful county, and the largest town was not too far for Kate to travel, in fact she was there now, and the proximity would be suitable for her needs… whatever they really were.

He went on to write that Kate was more than open to hearing whatever Derek wanted to tell her, about business or otherwise. Then he added a new topic by inquiring after the marriage of Lady Laura Hale. Whom had she married? Derek had failed to mention it in his first letter. One more note about the missed beauty of Derek's handsome chin and Stiles closed the letter with a flourish.

Alright. The hard part was over. Now to write in his own words.

His own words. It was such a relief. Such a pleasure. He could write almost anything he wanted, no direction given. He smiled down at his new blank paper.

' _Mr. Derek Hale,_

 _Stiles is a moniker, officially. I have not gone by my real name in roughly five years, and there is some tender baggage attached to the name. So, until I can bear the weight of that history again, Stiles I will be. As odd as the name sounds to you, I'm partial to it. My father used to call me that, a fondness on his face. Or exasperation. I caused both as often as the other. I won't lie. I was a troublemaker. A real rogue. And I'm proud of that._

 _Allison is my truest friend in the whole world. She keeps me sane when I teeter on madness. Honestly, I fear the day she marries – not because I want to keep her single forever but… Okay, maybe because I want her to stay single. When she marries, as she definitely will, she will move away from the Argent household, and I will be left alone with the revolving servants and, worse, with Kate. I am employed by Kate, not by the Argents. I cannot simply leave with Allison, as much as I'd want to. Sometimes I wonder if I'll ever be able to leave at all._

 _Sorry. That was a dreary sentence. My life is not so bad. I have more freedom than the servants, can go into town whenever I choose, and I get to eat in the dining hall with the rest of the family, if I happen to attend meals at the same time. I am not a prisoner._

 _Honestly, I have a distrust of most people. Perhaps I developed it by working for Kate, but I assume everyone has an ulterior motive, a dirty secret. Funnily, I haven't imagined the same for you since your first letter. Anyone who distrusts Kate must have a good head on their shoulders. Plus, you called to me for help. A sign of trust deserves a sign of trust._

 _Thirty-one, you say? I imagined you closer to forty, like Kate. I am a little bit affronted by her gall now, not that I wasn't before. Ten years ago, you would have been twenty-one, one year younger than I am now, and Kate would have been twenty-nine. How she could justify toying with a man so many years younger than herself astounds me. I apologize if that sounds at all insulting to you. I assure you, I'm only trying to insult her._

 _This letter is getting too long. I won't be able to hide it properly if I exceed one page, so I'll cut myself off. If you knew me in person, you would understand my tendency for rambling._

 _My best to you and yours, eagerly awaiting your reply,_

 _Stiles_

He set the page aside to dry and got up to pace. Should he tell Allison about these letters? He knew she would never tell Kate – she was as adept at lying to her aunt as Stiles was – but the more people who knew a secret, the more likely it was to get out. Stiles was actively speaking ill of Kate now. If she discovered any of it, he would probably wish he were dead.

But Allison would never tell. It was more likely that she would be supportive of his new outlet. He was worrying for nothing… but all the same, he should probably hold off on telling her, at least to see if the letters continued. There was no guarantee, after all, that Derek would keep writing to him. If the letters stopped, he'd rather take the force of the disappointment alone.

When the ink was dry, he folded his letter tightly and slid it into a new envelope. He'd present Kate with the other letters when she arrived, both Derek's and then Stiles' reply. She'd have him revise it, just to be prudish, and then Stiles could send off both replies.

The thought of waiting for a potential letter had Stiles bouncing and fidgeting. The anxiety was a different brand than the stuff Kate caused, but it made him jittery all the same.

Hope, he realized, was a special type of poison. And how pitiful was he that he put so much of it into the quill of a stranger.


	4. Chapter 4

Going into town had once been a source of joy for Stiles.

His father would hold him on his shoulders when he was younger, and they would cheer on the athletes at the games – regardless of what sport it was. His father loved sports, and he often dreamed out loud about Stiles one day competing, even though Stiles showed no innate talent towards anything but running.

They always had good seats at the theater, but sometimes they chose to view from the standing area just to be closer and get the heat of lamps. A true theater excursion was incomplete unless it made you sweat a little – at least that's what his father used to say. Otherwise, how were you certain the play had affected you at all?

Every other week, someone was having a party – birthday, engagement, debutante, Friday. There was always a reason to celebrate, and Stiles loved making appearances. His father would fuss over him every time he planned to go out, making sure his hair wasn't sticking up or that his vest was tightened properly. He didn't need to know that Stiles usually took the vest off upon arrival. Well, actually, he probably did know.

For as long as Stiles could remember, he and his father had made plans to go into town together at least once a week, and it was always Stiles' favorite day.

But Stiles had not been able to visit town with such a happy countenance in over four years.

Certainly, he still visited town, but it was a quieter affair and he didn't go often. He rarely went to sporting events, and he avoided entirely both parties and the theater. Gossips loved both, and Stiles had hated their whispers for as long as he could remember. His hatred only grew when the whispers became about him.

If Stiles' father were still around…. No, they'd still be whispering. Stiles would undoubtedly be the center of some kind of gossip, but for something silly and mundane. He'd much prefer that.

He'd much prefer his father to still be alive.

' _You must have loved your father very dearly. I'm sincerely sorry for your loss._ '

The line from Derek's latest letter floated through Stiles' mind as he accompanied Allison into town. Normally, she took the carriage to town so she didn't have to walk alone, but today Stiles had finally agreed to come along. They strolled lazily down the road, enjoying the fall air.

For the last several minutes, they had been walking widely, stepping purposely in front of each other's steps until they eventually swung their legs in sync, first to the left side of the road and then crossing entirely to the right. They laughed when they stepped on each other and when Stiles almost fell over. The game only paused because a carriage came down the road, and it would be unladylike for Allison to be seen acting so foolishly by someone rich enough to own a carriage.

It was during the pause that Stiles' mind had drifted to his own trips into town via carriage, to his father, and eventually to Derek Hale.

He bit his lip as they started walking, normally this time, toward town. "Hey, Allison? I need to tell you something."

"Like what? You know you can tell me anything." She smiled a little deviously. "Did you do something terrible? I swear my aunt won't hear it from me. Can I be in on the plan?"

Such a lady. Stiles loved her.

He couldn't help the smile that broke on his face at her teasing, but it died quickly. "No. I mean, yes. It has something vaguely to do with your aunt. But it doesn't, really."

"Well that clears up the entire situation," Allison agreed dramatically. She leveled him with an unimpressed expression, encouraging him without words to get to his point.

With a sigh, Stiles confessed. "For the last month or so, Kate has been corresponding with Derek Hale."

"Right. But that's not news. Everyone in the house knows that. I think even some people in town know about it." Allison frowned, and Stiles could see her disappointment in Kate – who was probably the one starting the rumors.

"Yes. And I'm sure the rumors cover more of it than she's even revealed to Derek. This morning she let slip that she intends to convince Derek Hale into matrimony." Stiles felt a bitter taste rise in his throat as he remembered Kate's excited words. She had her eyes on Derek's whole life, on his estates and family.

"Well that would never do," Allison said with a frown. "Derek Hale is set to inherit his father's title. He'll be the Earl of Beacon soon enough."

Was it possible for eyes to pop completely out of their owner's head? "Earl?! He'll be on equal footing with your grandfather?"

"Higher, actually." Allison smiled like this was a secret pleasure of hers. "My family may be rich and titled, but the Hale family is more than double our strength in both economic and social standing. Grandpa hates them, so I'm sure Aunt Kate hasn't revealed her plans to him."

"So Kate has a secret too." Stiles pressed his lips together, absorbing all his new information. Then a frown tugged down on his lips and forehead. "But my secret is… I have also been corresponding with Derek Hale. Not as a scribe for your aunt, but as me. As Stiles." He paused to gauge her reaction, which was confused and then surprised.

All she said, though, was, "Oh. That's interesting."

Stiles ran his hands through his hair, ruining the small attempt at grooming he'd done that morning, and then tugged on his shirt, pulling it up from its tucked in position on accident. "Right? He sends me a letter every time he sends one for Kate. They're hidden underneath hers in the envelope, and I send one in reply in the same fashion. I've lost count of the number! Okay, so I haven't. We've exchanged eleven letters each. Eleven! Allison, no one has written me eleven consecutive letters in my entire life, and now Derek Hale has managed it in seven weeks!"

She snickered and put a hand on his to stop its fidgeting. "I understand why you're surprised, but I'm happy for you. Neither of us knows why Kate is suddenly intent on marriage, but you managed to get a friend out of the exchange. You haven't tried to make any friends outside of me in years. This is a good thing."

"But if Kate discovers the letters- Allison, I haven't thrown any of them away. They're in my box in the dresser. If she finds them, I'll be ruined! I should- I should throw them away, right? I should burn them. Then there won't be any evidence." They had stopped walking, and Stiles stared into the distance, his mind fighting with self-preservation.

"Stiles, stop it." Allison pinched his nose to break him from his thoughts, and when he looked down at her, she was glaring. "I will not let you burn those letters. This. Is. A. Good. Thing. I'd noticed your improved mood this last month, and now I finally know the cause. I will not let you destroy the first good thing to happen to you since… well, since you moved in."

Grabbing his arm firmly around the bicep, Allison started them walking again, her steps heavy and determined, as if she were modeling how to walk for Stiles and his unsteady feet.

"Now," she said, a smile returning to her face. "Tell me about this Derek Hale. Is he falling for Kate's advances?"

"I'm not sure. He's civil in his letters to her, and he keeps writing, so it's possible that he at least is entertained by her conversation… I mean, my conversation? But her choice of topics? It's surprisingly complicated. But in his letters to me, he expresses an attitude of indifference to her. I'm not sure what, exactly, his true feelings toward Kate are." Stiles bit his lip. "I mean, I want him not to like her. But-"

"But," Allison agreed, "If he stops writing to her, he can't write to you. That's what you're thinking, right? Well, maybe Mr. Hale is thinking the same thing. Maybe he's only putting up with my aunt so he can write to you."

That drew a snort from Stiles before he could stop it. "Oh please, Allison. No member of the gentry spends his days seeking the attention of a scribe unless he wants to commission them." She started to object, but he tapped a finger to her nose. "But I appreciate your sentiment. You win. I won't burn the letters."

"Fine. I'll take that victory." She linked their fingers together so they could walk hand in hand. "Next time, though, I'll convince you of your likeable personality too. I'm sure it's in there somewhere."

"Ha. Ha."

"Now, before we enter 'polite' company, tell me more. What do the two of you write about?" The way she leaned into him and sang her words, one would think Stiles had dropped a hint about the juiciest gossip in town, but while he knew his gossip was good, there was bound to be some better scandal happening in town. There had to be, even with the new information of Derek's impending title. Still, he humored her.

"Nothing. Everything?" Stiles tapped his lips a few times as he thought. "We started with basic niceties, how his family was and questioning the wellbeing of each other and our homes, but somehow we've begun discussing literature and society. He's a firm believer that what a person likes to read is a good judge of their character. Kate, for example, loves novels that involve a murder and the gossip magazines. Derek says this shows her vanity and affinity for cruel jokes, even toward people she likes. I told him I also like books with a good murder mystery, where investigators untangle wicked plots, but his reply was that I have a curious mind that likes to help others. Kate and I are reading similar material for different reasons. I told him that his theory was more than likely biased."

"I don't think I agree. That is, I can see what you mean. He's reading into both of your interests and seeing what he wants to see. That's what you're saying, right? But at the same time, I think he's on to something. My aunt will read murder mysteries and then discuss where the killer went wrong. However, when you read the same book, you come to me with excitement to discuss the method of capture and all the interesting things you learned. Sometimes you learn gruesome things, yes, but you also learned about different kinds of silk once, and also about the ingredients of bread. Remember?"

Stiles chuckled. "See? I think you're a little biased too. No one else thinks those details are very interesting. My brain doesn't work the same as other people's. Some would argue that makes me just as crazy as your aunt."

"Some would be wrong." Allison pressed a finger into the soft, sensitive area right above Stiles' hip. He jumped away from her, shouting in shock and then laughing from the tickle.

"Not fair," he whined. "Tickling is against the rules."

"Oh, is that so?" She wiggled her fingers in his direction. She made him squeak again just by taking a step toward him, and then they were dodging around, trying to tickle each other, and generally being unrefined and scandalous.

They could joke and play and touch as much as they wanted in private, but as soon as they got near town, they'd have to separate to a respectable distance. Just one more reason Stiles no longer liked going to town. He liked playing around with his friends. He called it healthy. Most called it childish. Allison would say it didn't matter, that she liked Stiles' way, but she always acted on her best behavior in public anyway.

He hoped Allison was right about one thing, though. He really hoped that Derek Hale liked writing to Stiles and wasn't simply doing it to be respectful, like he seemed to be doing with Kate.

* * *

A week later, Allison and her father left to visit the school Allison would be attending in the fall. The thought made Stiles glum. Forget about Allison marrying – he'd lose her in a few short months to higher education.

The departure left Stiles with no one to truly confide in. The other servants were always careful around him, even the ones that liked him, and the other Argents basically treated him as though he didn't exist at all. Chris Argent always got a concerned pull to his forehead when he spotted Stiles in passing, as though he were concerned for everyone's wellbeing when Stiles was around. Then he'd quickly turn and walk out of the hall or room. Stiles never knew if he should be angry about that reaction or not.

Gerard Argent spent his days split between two places. Either he locked himself away in his study and was visited by a shady round of people, or he was out of the house on business, the purpose of which Stiles was never privy to. The old man kept no scribe, not trusting anyone else with his business affairs, and he required all the gentleman he did business with to never let their scribes read or write their letters either. The secrecy made Stiles dislike the man in general, but Stiles hated Gerard Argent because of how he treated Stiles. Whenever they happened to enter the same room, Gerard would wrinkle his nose, sniff audibly, and make a comment about refuse.

"I see some garbage never knows when to leave", or "I thought I smelled a disappointment", or most notably, "Should I alert the staff of your impending mental breakdown, or is that scheduled for next week?"

And that was just the verbal offenses. The physical was on an entirely different level.

Chris Argent said very little to Stiles, but he was never cruel. The servants respected him a great deal. But Gerard? Servants feared Gerard. Stiles was no servant, and he hated the man more fiercely than anyone should ever have to hate another person. Although Stiles sometimes thought he could hate no one more than Kate Argent, he was always reminded of how wrong he was whenever Gerard Argent skulked his way through the house.

While Allison remained in residence, Gerard kept his biting comments to a minimum, saving face in front of his granddaughter. But without Allison, the venom flowed, so Stiles did what any man would do to stay sane. He stayed out of the house as often as possible.

He helped the stable hands break in some new foals, staying outside until he was sweating through his clothes; helped the maids wash and hang laundry, his sleeves rolled up past his elbows and his arms dripping with suds; and helped the gardeners tend the large and detailed flora that encompassed the whole yard, but especially the left flank of the property. Any task was preferable to being trapped inside a house with Gerard Argent, even a house as massive as the Argent manor.

On the third morning without Allison, Derek Hale's newest letter arrived. The one to Kate was as shallow and devoid of true conversation as always, though Kate seemed pleased enough that a letter had arrived at all. In her reply, Kate discussed the newest play she'd witnessed and had Stiles tie it in to a coy mention of finding love in surprising places. She meant to induce Derek to think of her romantically, of course, and Stiles did his best to drop the hint as often and yet subtly as possible. Kate was pleased.

Derek wrote to Stiles of the same play, though Stiles didn't know until after Kate had left the room. He told Stiles about the folly of loving someone you've known for only a day, as happened in the play.

' _If I were ever to fall in love,'_ he wrote, _'I would want to know my betrothed for a substantial amount of time beforehand. I want to know them for who they truly are. How do they treat their betters, but more importantly, how do they treat their lesser? How would they determine fairness in their county? What is their idea of happiness and do I fit that mold? You cannot imagine the number of married men and women who come to find they have nothing in common with their spouse, only too late for it to make any difference. No, I should know my lover long before I ever expressed a word of fondness.'_

Stiles stared at those words for a long time. He felt them in his chest, all tight and hopeful, though he didn't understand why.

' _I have never been in love,'_ Stiles replied. ' _When I was in a position to find someone worth caring about, I squandered the opportunity. I paid no one any particular mind, and instead focused on silly past times – such as building contraptions for cleaning my room that never worked, or when I decided to learn Latin despite no one in the known world actually speaking it. When I finally looked up and realized how nice it would be to have someone by my side, I found myself truly alone. Since then, I have seen some eligible men and women pass in and out of my life, but there is some quality they lack. They remind me of myself, blind in the boxes they inhabit. They can't see the people around them for what they're worth. If I can ever hope for a lover, I would want someone whose eyes are open to the truths around them, and who can see past my jaded exterior, for I have become quite the spiny oyster.'_

He sealed the letters and handed them off to Reddick with a melancholy heart. He didn't know why he found it so easy to tell his secret feelings to Derek Hale. Perhaps it was the lack of knowing him in person. It was like writing letters to a stranger, to someone who couldn't use the information against him, although he knew that Derek could do so very easily.

When Stiles turned from the entry hall, he found Gerard watching him from the doorway to his study. All fantastical thoughts of Derek Hale fled from Stiles' mind, replaced with a cold and angry sense of dread. He glared back at the old man's disgusted expression and held eye contact as he stepped past the old man and into the opposite hall.

How could one person so easily suck happiness from everyone around him? Sighing in frustration, Stiles stalked from the house entirely, striding through the back yard and continuing straight off Argent property. Well, the whole county was Argent property, but at least he was away from the main estate.

Kate was in town and Gerard was spying on him at the house. Today was a day for a good, long walk. The woods around the Argent estate were not the loveliest Stiles had ever seen, but they were still woods. They reminded him of the home he'd once shared with his father, though the trees there had been closer together and the bushes lush with far more color every spring. The shade of the trees took him back to a time before his mother had left them, to playing hide and seek around the tree trunks. And the cry of birdsong reminded him of the summer his father had spent trying to teach the sounds to Stiles, to only mild success.

Stiles closed his eyes in the safety of the trees and let his mind wander to the memories of his family that he usually tried not to dwell on. The faces of his parents, which usually brought on a wave of loneliness, were happy friends in a place like this.

In a nearby tree, he heard the call of a sparrow or three. Distantly, he heard the sound of hooves and wheels and-

Stiles jerked his whole body when a shriek tore through the trees. A snapping sound accompanied the terrible sound, but the whole commotion lasted only a moment. The woods soon resumed their normal low hum of wind and animal sounds. The shriek didn't leave Stiles, however, and he hurried in the direction of the sound.

A short jog later, he came upon a carriage in the woods. The snapping sound had been one of the wheels cracking in half when it dropped into a large divot in the dirt path of the woods. The shriek had been female, but the source must have taken refuge inside the broken vehicle, because the only people outside were men.

Hearing Stiles approach, the closer of the two men turned to confront him. He wore an officer's uniform, a mix of muted greens and deep blues.

"Halt where you are, Sir. Come no closer to the vehicle," he said. His dark blonde hair was short, and his face was a smooth sort of beautiful. His expression was serious, and it made his eyes intense and stunning.

"I'm not a rogue," Stiles said, a slight scoff in his voice. He held his hands up innocently. "I was just checking on the scream. Is everyone alright?"

"We're fine. Thank you for your concern. You may return to your home now," the officer said, clipped and defensive. The officer was a few years older than Stiles, but somehow it still felt like being ordered around by a disturbingly attractive twelve-year-old.

"Do you need a spare wheel? I live nearby. I could run back and get one for you." Stiles motioned back the way he'd come. Though he didn't fancy seeing Gerard again, he was sure the stable hands wouldn't mind giving him a spare wheel. And if they did, he'd just steal it.

The officer looked about to say no, but the carriage window lowered and a woman's voice emanated from the dark interior. "Let him help, Parrish. We're going to be late as it is, and you know how I hate being late."

"Yes, ma'am," Officer Parrish conceded. He nodded to Stiles, his stance relaxing slightly. "Please. If you could loan us a wheel, we would be in your debt. And if you lead the way, I can help carry the wheel."

So Stiles led Parrish back to the Argent manor, or at least the stable part of it. Together they hefted the correct size wheel across the back lawn and into the trees. Parrish was stronger than he appeared, and he said the same thing about Stiles, which made Stiles like him a bit more. It helped that Parrish looked good with the sweat building up along the hairline on his neck. Stiles did his best not to stare, but it was hard not to admire Parrish at least a little bit. The man just looked really good in his uniform.

When they got back to the carriage, the second officer met them to position the wheel where it would be attached. He'd managed to pry the broken one off by himself.

"My Lady, I apologize," Parrish called out to the woman inside the carriage. "You and your ladies will need to come out so we can lift the carriage and replace the wheel."

"I knew you were going to say that," she said with some annoyance. "Fine. But if you can't manage it between the three of you, just know that I will be showing all of you how to do it properly."

Parrish chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck. "Of course, My Lady, but that won't be necessary. Your mother would never forgive me if your dress got ruined."

The door to the carriage swung open and a young woman stepped out onto the dirt road. She wore an impressive gown that had no business being in the woods and put most party gowns to shame. Jewelry adorned her wrist, neck, and ears and managed to make her sparkle even in the shade. Her hair, though, caught Stiles attention the most. It was a fiery red and tied up high on her head. Pins and decorations adorned the curls.

Stiles had never seen anyone so dressed up in his life. It was a shock. She was accompanied by two other women, but none drew his eye like her.

"Quit staring," the young woman snapped. "Unless you want me to rip your eyes out."

"Preferably not," Stiles answered. "I sort of like them where they are. Most days, at least."

Officer Parrish cleared his throat and stepped up beside the woman. His eyes drifted to Stiles and he frowned. "Despite the situation, it would still be respectful of you to kneel. Sir," he added, a moment too late to sound smooth.

"Kneel?" Stiles' brow knit curiously and he frowned. Why would he kneel?

The other officer piped up then, loud and annoyed. "Do you not recognize our lady? You're standing before Lady Lydia Martin, The Duchess of Roden."


	5. Chapter 5

"The Duchess of R- The who!?" Stiles exclaimed, flinching. Scrambling, he bent low, too low, and almost tipped forward. When he caught himself, he cursed under his breath, and that drew a laugh from one of the ladies. "My Lady," Stiles said, formally, before rising. "I- My apologies."

Parrish and the other officer set about putting the wheel in place, now determined that Stiles was no threat. Lady Martin looked more amused now than annoyed. She shared a glance with her ladies and then curtsied to Stiles, though it was unnecessary, since he was nowhere near her rank. "A pleasure, I'm sure. You said you live nearby. Are you a member of the family Argent? Or one of their tenants?"

"No," Stiles said and then flubbed a few words when Lady Martin's expression became confused and suspicious. "I mean, I do live at the Argent estate," he corrected. "But I am not really a tenant. I am the scribe of the Lady Katherine."

"Oh?"

It was not the duchess who made the surprised sound, but one of the two ladies with her. The quiet lady had been the one to giggle at his curse, and she was fair in complexion with chestnut hair and bony features. But the one who had exclaimed had dark hair and darker eyes. She was young but beautiful, and unlike the other two women, she was not in a gown. She wore pants and a leather vest, and her silhouette was petite but sturdy. Stiles noted her strong cheekbones and thin nose and decided he liked the fierce look of her.

"Is something wrong, Lady Cora?" the duchess asked.

"No, My Lady," Cora said, bowing her head before staring straight at Stiles. The corner of her lips twitched up slightly as she added, "I've just heard stories about the scribe of Lady Argent."

Oh perfect. Someone who remembered the old rumors about Stiles. His gut went sour, and he wondered if she knew his real name behind that teasing smirk of hers. If she did, he hoped she kept it to herself. He didn't need to be embarrassed in front of a duchess any more than he already was.

"Good things, right?" the second lady asked, voice quiet and somehow flirty. Stiles did his best not to shiver at the sound. He didn't like it. "He's so handsome."

Before Lady Cora could respond, the duchess held up a hand. "Now is not the time for flirting, Meredith. We will be late for my mother's dinner if we let you toy with him." And though she was being strict, she smiled at the other woman. Then she motioned to Stiles. "Well, Scribe of Lady Argent, alert your mistress that I will return her generosity shortly, when I am not so pressed for time."

Stiles bowed again, a sweeping, practiced motion that was far more graceful than his first attempt. "Thank you, my Lady."

The officers announced their success and the women moved back toward the carriage door. Lady Lydia Martin paused, one foot on the step, and turned her face back toward Stiles. "I don't believe you gave a name, Mr. Scribe. That seems a bit rude."

"Stiles. My name is Stiles."

"Is that so?" And then she stepped into the waiting darkness of the carriage.

Meredith followed quickly, but Cora took slow steps. Her eyes lingered over every aspect of Stiles, and he could feel her forming misconceptions about him based on the rumors she knew. He wasn't dressed formally, and for once he wished he was. Not for the duchess, but for the sake of his wrecked reputation. Unfortunately, he couldn't read Cora's expression at all for approval or disapproval. It was only just before the door shut behind her that she smirked once more. Then she was shadowed and hidden behind the walls of the carriage.

Stiles stood, frozen, as the officers clambered onto the carriage and took up the reins. As Parrish whipped the horses into motion, Stiles heard the duchess's voice through the carriage window.

"What the hell is a Stiles?"

Then all he could hear were their giggles as the carriage rode off into the distance, leaving Stiles and the broken wheel behind.

Heat burned in Stiles' stomach. So much for a relaxing walk in the woods to clear his mind.

* * *

 _Dear Derek,_

 _I'm so angry today. I was shamed by someone I had never met before. Perhaps she was a duchess, but perhaps she was no better than Kate, judging someone by their name or appearance. Did she judge my actions, that I helped her out of a precarious situation? Did she judge that I paid her every courtesy and respect? No. She judged my name. And her lady-in-waiting was no better, sizing me up like an old pair of boots._

 _I should be honest with you. I am mostly angry with myself. The only reason the lady-in-waiting had grounds to judge me is due to rumors I caused myself. I have told you before that Stiles is a moniker. I'm afraid the lady knew my legal name and judged me for the actions of my past. I have no excuses for those actions except that I was wild with despair, but that is no excuse at all. When she took notice of me, recognized me, I felt ashamed and embarrassed, and I hated her for it. But when they were gone, I knew I hated myself more._

 _Undoubtedly, I have been lying to you. I have pretended to be an upstanding citizen and a good employee. Yet I have cursed the name of my employer, spoken ill of a duchess, and promised to give you secrets behind the back of the family I serve. I have also hidden from you the truth of my past, of how I ended up in the employ of Lady Katherine Argent in the first place. I'm sorry, I cannot tell you that truth still. But not because I don't trust you or your judgment. I know you are shrewd and just and would take a good measure of my character if you knew. No, I cannot tell anyone outside of the Argents, because those wounds are still too fresh. I would not tell the story right. I am clouded by bias, by anger, by sadness. I want you to have a full image of me, but I cannot provide one._

 _Kate grows more frustrated by the day, convinced she is making no progress with you. I am embarrassed to admit that I have been using her correspondence selfishly. She let slip what her main intention is, but I have kept it from you for over a week. Another sign of my unscrupulous nature. It appears she intends to marry you. She longs to be your future Countess of Beacon. You see? This is no simple fling for her. She is aiming for a long relationship, and I have been slowing the process. Feel free to be disgusted with me. I am._

 _Yours,_

 _Stiles_

It was only after the post had been gone for an hour that Stiles realized he'd addressed and signed the letter the same way he did Kate's. He'd said 'Dear Derek' and 'Yours'. Although Kate always said 'Dearest', it was close enough.

Stupid Stiles, he thought as he escaped into his room. Sure he enjoyed Derek's correspondence and had fancied them friends, but to start with 'Dear'? To drop his surname? To sign it 'yours'? His stupid heart needed to stop pounding. Even if Stiles had managed to grow attached to Derek through their letters, there was no way an earl would deign to have affections for someone with no family ties, no title. Despite what happened in novels, nobility did not marry dishonored scribes.

Why was his mind on marriage now? Because he knew Kate wanted to marry Derek? He should just let her get on with her plan. Then Stiles could scribe for both of them. Then he could know Derek in person and Derek could treat him like an employee and Stiles could get his head back on straight.

But his chest ached when he imagined them married, and not just because he hated Kate.

God, he was so angry with himself today.

* * *

Allison found Stiles in the library, pouring over books on the lineage of the nobility. Family trees spread out over countless pages, showing the transfer of titles over hundreds of years. When he was discovered, Stiles was trailing a finger over the branch of a tree with the name Martin inscribed above it. There, at the bottom of the tree, was Lydia Martin, Duchess of Roden, only heir to the Princess Natalie and her husband, Lord Martin.

"Lord Martin, it seems, married extremely well for the second son of a duke with no title of his own," Allison said to announce herself. She had somehow gotten right next to Stiles and saw where his finger had stopped.

"So it would seem. Maybe he used witchcraft." It was a joke, and they both laughed. "Seriously, though, Lady Lydia is extremely lucky too. The only child of a princess. She got her own title and lands."

"Why suddenly so interested in Lady Martin?" Allison bumped him on the shoulder until he scooted over so she could sit beside him at the table.

"I met her." He ignored Allison's sound of surprise and continued talking. "It made me realize I've forgotten a lot of genealogy. One of her officers scolded me for not recognizing her, and he was right. I should have noticed her insignia on the carriage, at the very least. So I decided to brush up."

Allison laughed softly and pushed some of his hair back from his face. It had gotten much longer than when he'd first moved into the Argent house. Before he'd moved in, he'd always kept his hair shaved pretty close. He'd hated styling it into submission, but now that he was under no expectations, he didn't mind the length. Most days, he let it hang loose. In fact, he hadn't styled it in over a month.

"You always get so intense about the strangest things, Stiles," Allison said, not unkindly. "But fair enough. If you're going to study, the least I can do is help. I probably need a refresher too."

"I doubt it," Stiles retorted with a snort. Unlike Stiles, Allison was quizzed regularly on the nobility.

Regardless, Allison took the book from him and started flipping through it. When she found a family she liked, she stopped and pointed to the tree but didn't let Stiles see it. She'd call out the family name and Stiles would try to remember the living members. Then she'd quiz him on their regalia. They went through several this way – Argent, Blake, Lahey, and Martin.

"McCall?" Allison asked.

"It's... Lady McCall inherited her husband's title upon his death, right? But she has a son, Scott. When he came of age, the title passed to him," Stiles answered.

"And that title is?"

He pursed his lips and stood from the table. While he thought, he paced. Movement always helped him think. "Baron… something Hispanic?"

"Baron Posey," Allison said, giving him a break. "Their family symbol?"

"A black wolf," Stiles answered without hesitation. He'd always liked that one. Despite the ferocity wolves usually inspired, the McCall wolf always looked tame to Stiles, like a beautiful overgrown dog.

"Good." Allison praised him with clapping and everything. Then she flipped once more through the book. "How about this one?" she asked, and something in her tone made Stiles nervous.

He returned to the table and tried not to read too much from the anxious expression on Allison's face. Part of him already knew what he'd see in the book, but he looked anyway. There, at the top of the page, was a beautifully scripted name: Stilinski.

"I don't want to study anymore," he said, soft and rushed.

"Stiles," Allison contested, but he slammed the book shut to cut her off.

"I said I don't want to study anymore." He didn't mean to sound so rude, but he could barely even hear himself over the rush of blood in his ears. Stepping away from the table, he ran his hand through his hair and tried to remember how to breathe.

It took a moment for the room to stop squeezing him. Allison stayed silent throughout the ordeal, for which Stiles was grateful. If she had tried speaking, he may have begun to panic. Only once his breathing had leveled out did she approach him and place a hand on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I thought… It's been four years."

"Tell me-," Stiles began before hesitating. He cleared his throat, mind racing for a new subject. "Do you know what happened between Derek Hale and your aunt nine years ago? Derek said they left off on a sour note."

At first his answer was silence, but eventually Allison let the subject change without argument. "Vaguely," she admitted. "I was ten at the time, so I didn't pay much attention, you know. And my father is always trying to keep the darker parts of our family a secret from me. But as far as I know, Mr. Hale and my aunt met when he was in college. He was studying business practices, and she was helping out one of his professors with a dissertation. I know she used to spend a lot of time in his county, though I don't know if all of that time was spent with him. There was a large argument among the Hales during the year she knew Derek. His uncle, Mr. Peter Hale, apparently made a claim to the title and was almost disinherited. Then Derek was in the midst of a scandal involving rumors of a secret engagement."

"An engagement?" Stiles felt his chest squeeze at the same time his forehead knit together. "With whom?"

"A classmate at school, or so I heard. The rumor was that she was a gentleman's daughter with no title – far below Derek's station. Though no one knows who she was, I know for a fact that it was Kate that ended any such notions as marriage." Allison nodded, though her face was grim. "She's bragged enough times about saving Derek's honor to be sure of that. So if Derek claims they ended sourly, he's probably talking about that."

"A secret engagement," Stiles murmured, his mind far away.

Derek had said he'd only admit to loving someone after knowing them for a long time. How long did he have to know someone to get engaged? Or was his failed engagement the reason for his current hesitations?

And how dare Kate attempt to marry the man after being the cause of his unhappiness! It would take more than a few well penned letters to heal that wound. No wonder Derek distrusted her. Stiles would doubt her intentions too, if he were in Derek's position. He'd doubt her anyway, even if all she claimed was that she was excusing herself to use the restroom, but that was probably his bias talking.

Though he and Allison's conversation continued – they discussed other matters and debated on going riding together the next day, weather permitting – Stiles found himself thinking about Derek's past whenever the conversation lulled. His infamous curiosity was drawing him in, and he didn't know how to escape it.

* * *

The knock on the door came irritatingly early. Reddick answered it, as he always did, but Sir Gerard actually stepped out of his room to investigate the disturbance as well. Stiles was not curious about the visitor, but he did happen to pass by the entryway on his path toward food when the door was opened.

On their doorstep was an officer in full regalia. The blues and greens of his outfit were crisp and clean, and the buttons running down his chest shone in the early morning sun. On his lapel were the decorations of a young but successful career. When he removed his cap, Stiles recognized the tidy dark blonde hair, the smooth handsome face, the bright eyes set in a serious face.

"Officer Parrish?" he asked, quiet and under his breath. His steps slowed but he didn't stop until he was half out of the room and could hide from the confrontation. The officer had said the duchess would repay the Argents for the wheel, but Stiles honestly hadn't expected it to be true.

Parrish bowed to Gerard, measured and straight-backed. When he stood again, he was the picture of a perfect soldier. "Sir, the Duchess of Roden sent me to thank you for the service your scribe provided her the other day. Without the wheel from your stables, we would have been stranded for hours. Please accept her ladyship's sincerest gratitudes, as well as this payment for the wheel."

He bowed slightly as he handed over an envelope. Inside was enough money for at least two carriage wheels and a seal from the duchess herself. The seal carried no true monetary value, but they could display it as a sign of honor.

"I, too, am grateful," Gerard replied, smiling. His wrinkles made him look harmless, and his sweet tone made him sound innocent, but only the officer was convinced. "Her ladyship is truly gracious. Please let her know that she is free to use our estate whenever she may be in the county."

"I will." Parrish beamed, and for once his eyes did not seem so serious. He was a young man, and he looked younger still when he grinned. Stiles didn't know how anyone could be so generally attractive. "If you'll excuse me."

Then the officer turned and left. Sir Gerard gripped the wood of the door and slowly pushed it shut, his eyes on Parrish's retreating back. Despite the speed, Stiles felt like the door had never closed louder. The silence in its wake made his skin crawl, and he was suddenly aware that his heart was pounding too quickly. He had begun to sweat, and as he watched Gerard carefully check the money, he felt himself desperately wishing to run.

"Oh, Stiles," Gerard called, his voice sing-songy, like they were playing hide and seek. He pocketed the envelope of money and glanced around the entry hall. Stiles ducked behind the wall, but his gut told him the older man already knew where he was. "Come now, Stiles. No need to hide from me."

Then Gerard was there, standing at the corner of the wall, his serious, disappointed eyes staring down into Stiles'.

"Yes, Sir?" Stiles asked, pretending he wasn't suffering some kind of anxiety or panic or whatever had begun to affect him.

"Did you take a wheel from the stables and give it to the Duchess of Roden?" the old man asked. He didn't sound angry, but Stiles knew better than to assume the man's mood.

Straightening his back to appear taller and more confident, Stiles nodded. "Her carriage broke down in the w-"

The slap was sudden and sent Stiles stumbling back several steps. His hand flew up to cover his face, which stung and burned at the same time. Almost as soon as his hand touched his cheek, he ripped it away and clenched it by his side. He stood up straight, biting back the natural reaction of tears forming in his left eye. The best reaction was no reaction, he told himself.

When he looked back at Gerard, he saw Kate and Chris entering the hall from the stairway. They were both paused on the final two steps, their focus drawn to the confrontation. Chris' face was pinched with a strange concern, but Kate's initial surprise was quickly dissolving into glee.

"You," Gerard growled, voice low and angry. "You dared to steal from this family? No matter the situation, no matter the reason – I will not accept it! Do I make myself clear?"

"Even to help a duchess?" Stiles asked, his voice hard as he attempted to rein in his own fury.

"Did I stutter, boy?!" Gerard roared, his hand flying back for another swing. Chris stepped down from the stairs, almost as though he planned to stop his father, but it was unnecessary. The blow never came. Gerard retracted his hand and huffed. "You are so insignificant. You have no title, no power. You have nothing."

Stiles bit his cheek, but he couldn't stop the glare. The remarks never failed to stab him in his pride. His mind suddenly thought of Derek's letters, of how he judged people based on their treatment of those lesser than them. Derek would have a poor judgment of Gerard. Stiles was certain.

"This is how you treat nothing, is it?" Stiles asked, almost surprised at his own gall. "If I have nothing, then whose fault is that? Who made me nothing? Huh?!" He held his arms out to the side, spanning the hall. Kate and Gerard looked mortified and then furious, but something in Stiles wouldn't let him stop. He motioned to himself. "I helped a duchess without even knowing who she was! If I am anything, then I am a good man! That is more than you can claim. And if my father were alive-"

"Your father is dead!" Kate shouted, hurrying to her father's side. Her voice dropped to a sickeningly sweet tone. "And even if he were alive, you would still be a worthless disappointment. First a public disgrace. Now a thief. Tell me, what kind of father could find pride in such a son?"

If Stiles could clench his hands further, he'd draw blood.

"The den. Now." Gerard motioned down the hall, but Stiles didn't move. The den sounded like any other sitting room to anyone else. To Stiles it sounded like jail. Gerard regarded him with growing disbelief and anger. "You dare to- I said now!"

"Oh sweetheart," Kate cooed from her father's shoulder. "Don't make this harder than it has to be."

Her sweetness was poison. He hated her. He hated her father. He hated this house. But he turned and did as ordered anyway. Behind him, he heard Allison coming down the stairs, but when she started to complain, Chris went to her to calm her down. Stiles heard her quiet argument with her father the whole way down the hall.

The den was the farthest room from the front door. It had a window that faced the backyard, but bushes had been grown to cover it from view. Unlike most of the house, no carpets had been added here, so the stained wood was exposed, making the floor draftier than anywhere else in the manor. There were a couple of wooden chairs and a small table, but no sofa. Paintings of past Argents adorned the walls, as well as a recent portrait of Gerard – all the Earls. Despite its small size, the lack of furniture or adornment made it feel spacious.

Stiles walked to the center of the room before turning to face the current Earl.

"I am not apologizing," he said, steadfast.

Chris had not followed, but Kate had. She was biting her lip with anticipation, disgusting in her excitement. Gerard closed the door behind him, shutting her out, and Stiles barely glimpsed her shocked disappointment before she was blocked from view.

"Maybe you aren't right now. But I'll see if I can't fix that." The old man stepped closer. A few years ago, Stiles mocked the threat concealed in the man's words, but now he kept his sarcasm at bay.

"Do whatever you want. I won't apologize. I meant every word." Stiles let his fists fall open, trying to force his body to relax. It wouldn't stop what was coming, but it would help.

Gerard smiled smugly as he pulled his jacket and vest off. "And you'll mean every syllable when you beg for forgiveness." He draped his clothes over the back of a chair and then focused all his attention on Stiles. "You will beg, because you know this only ends when you do. But even if you begged right now, I can't just let you go about your business. You stole from me, and then you insulted me in front of my children, in front of my staff. You must be taught a lesson."

"Whatever," Stiles said, just for the sake of getting the last word in.

When the beating started, he at least had that small victory to his name.


	6. Chapter 6

Allison was crying when Stiles found her in his room. One of the scullery maids, Emily, had been sent to the den an hour after Gerard left it. She cleaned Stiles up and brought him new clothes. He was no longer embarrassed to be helped into his pants, but it was still frustrating. Then, leaving the first aid supplies behind, the maid helped him walk back to his room at a slow, annoying pace.

Stiles heard the sound of tears before he got to his busted door and sent Emily away, but not before the maid promised to bring him a pain relieving tea later. When he was alone, Stiles leaned outside of his room, letting the sound of the tears sink in.

She always cried for him. Even though she usually tried to hide it, he could always tell. She'd come prancing into his room, trying to cheer him up, but he'd notice the redness of her nose or the puffiness of her eyes. How someone so sweet came out of a family so vile was a miracle.

There, in the hall, Stiles felt his own eyes begin to prick and sting. He took a deep breath and let it out, but it was unsteady. No, he couldn't cry too. This was nothing new, and Allison didn't need to see him looking defeated. He had to be strong for her. He had to make it seem less serious. For her sake.

Rubbing his eyes and then his nose, he took another deep breath, and this one came out smooth. Then he took a painful step to the door and entered the room.

Allison was sitting on his bed, but at his appearance, she jumped up and came to his side. Her arms went up to hug him, but then she hesitated and put them back down. The first time Gerard had beaten Stiles, he'd bruised Stiles' ribs, and when Allison tried to hug him for comfort, she'd sent him into a wave of pain. She'd learned to restrain herself ever since, even when there was nothing wrong with Stiles' ribs.

He was pretty sure he did have a bruise somewhere on his torso, though, so he appreciated it.

"Hey," he greeted with a grin. "Why the waterworks? Did something serious happen?"

"You're such an idiot," Allison scolded and rubbed her hands vigorously over her own face. "You know it was serious. It's always serious. But you always try to make it sound like nothing. But it's not. It's not right."

He tried to reach out for her to calm her down, but he winced with the motion and she backed out of his reach.

"You see? You're in pain. No one deserves to be treated this way. I'll talk to my father. We have to stop this." Her eyes were scanning him for more signs of harm, but Gerard was better than his daughter. He kept most of the damage where it could be hidden. "It's not right."

Sighing, Stiles stepped close and wrapped his arms around her, despite the way his body rebelled. "I'll be fine," he said. "I'm really okay. It will take way more than your wretched grandfather to stop me. Didn't you know? I was born with thick skin."

"Liar. You're the palest person I know. And you bleed easy." Her tone started as a joke but ended sadly. It was too soon to joke about bleeding. The bandages on Stiles' chest were proof of that, even if Allison couldn't see them.

"Shut up," Stiles said, his voice still teasing. "You're going to make me depressed if you keep talking like that. I may be a strong and dangerous person, but I have a fragile ego." He pulled back and motioned to his bed. Despite his own claims, he let her help steady him on the walk to it. "Come on. Let's do something productive. We could practice naming nobility again?"

She laughed at him, knowing studying was far from what he wanted to do then. The sound wasn't joyful, but it was better than her upset and angry tone, so he accepted it as a victory.

He did want the beatings to stop. Honestly, he did. But he didn't know what to do about them. He'd tried begging. He'd tried being silent. He'd tried fighting back. Nothing ever worked when Gerard was on a mission. As for asking Chris Argent for help? Stiles had almost snorted at the idea. Chris Argent wouldn't get within ten feet of Stiles unless there was no other option. There was no way he'd ever help Stiles go against his father. No, Stiles would probably have to die in order for that to happen. But it was charming that Allison thought it was possible.

* * *

' _Dearest Derek,_

 _I know you said you couldn't visit before autumn, but I must insist you do. It will be too cold to walk by your side in the garden if you wait until autumn. The rains will come and wash out any plans we could make. The wilderness will be fading into its least pleasant form, all drab and prepped for winter. You simply must visit before autumn. I wish to stroll the forest paths with you, ride into town as your companion, and see all the life of summer alight your face with a smile. Beyond that, your eyes will look the most striking in the backdrop of our summer green fields. I miss those eyes more than I can say. Please honor my family and I with the joy of your presence before the leaves begin to fall._

 _Yours, Kate'_

"That'll do for now," Kate said after reading the letter. Stiles was surprised, honestly, because she didn't offer any edits or additions like she normally did.

Actually, she'd been unnervingly complacent all day. He hadn't seen her at all the previous day, after Gerard's beating, and though her tone was as harsh as normal today, she said far less. Whenever Stiles moved, wincing from time to time, he noticed her eyes trailing over him. She'd never find the bruises that way, but she kept checking regardless.

Maybe he shouldn't be surprised. She often acted odd after a particularly good beating. Despite her abusive nature, she always let him heal for a day or two before getting rough with him again. In the beginning, he'd thought she felt remorse or perhaps cared about him, but she always returned to slapping him around eventually. The emotional tug of war was exhausting.

"I'll rewrite it neatly for you," Stiles said, taking the letter back from her and pulling out a new sheet for the final draft. "Will you be needing anything else today?"

"No," Kate answered, the syllable slightly too long, as though she were thinking hard about something. "Finish your scribbling and then see the maids for first aid. I can't stand you being so sluggish. It's aggravating. This letter took you twice as long to write, and it's not even the longest one we've sent." She stomped to the door, annoyance in the set of her shoulders. "Be a man and stop wincing all the time. You weren't even hit that hard."

The door shut loudly behind her, covering the fact that Stiles had snapped his pen in half. Cursing, he gathered the shards and dumped them in the waste basket, and then he returned to mop up the ink. The focus on his mess distracted him from his anger, and when he sat back in his seat, he was more relieved than agitated.

With a tired sigh, he reached for Derek's envelope and dug around for a second letter. It was on a smaller bit of paper than normal, but he welcomed the message regardless of length. His chest warmed just on the salutation, but he did his best to remain calm and indifferent while he read.

' _Dear Stiles,_

 _Lately I have been thinking about horses. One of our mares recently gave birth, and the foal is the strongest I've ever seen. It runs around the paddock with gusto bordering on foolishness. Rain or shine, he goes out into the yard all on his own. When he is older, he'll make a fantastic mount. You can see in his eyes that he wants to prove himself, and I have no doubts that he will surprise all of us._

 _I think my favorite time to go riding is in spring, when the bushes are fresh with life. The fields and forests are never so fragrant as then, and I think my horse likes that too. I admit I am usually a solo rider. I feel more at ease when out from under the gaze of others. Though I'm beginning to believe I wouldn't mind company if the right person were around – someone whose conversation makes me feel excited, not anxious or annoyed. Someone who speaks and writes very well. Someone like that, I think I could spend all day with._

 _Yours, Derek Hale'_

Dear Stiles. Yours, Derek Hale. Ever since Stiles had accidentally sent a letter with those greetings, Derek had begun doing the same. Just seeing the words at the top of a letter were enough to make Stiles excited. Despite having never met Stiles in person, Derek Hale, next Earl of Beacon, considered him a close enough acquaintance to write such intimacies.

Stiles was beyond honored. Stiles was smitten.

Yep. He could admit it in his head. He had a crush on some lovely penmanship.

Not that he was planning on telling anyone that.

Damn. He didn't even know what Derek looked like. All he had was some tiny portrait in a book, and no one ever looked like their portraits – especially not Stiles. Though, to be fair, Stiles' portrait was from when he was in his awkward pubescent years. The point, however, was that Derek's portrait told him little more about Derek than Kate's rantings.

Pulling out his own paper, Stiles tried not to get hung up on Derek's physical appearance and to focus on the words. In almost three months of corresponding, Stiles had begun to believe he could honestly trust the words Derek Hale sent him… And if that ever proved false, well Stiles would probably be crushed and despondent, but he'd cross that bridge when he came to it. He grabbed a new pen and tapped it in the ink.

' _Dear Derek,_

 _Newborn foals are always excited and energetic beyond their sense. I would wait to pass judgment on the strength of this little guy until he finally does prove himself. I recall a specific foal from my childhood – a russet coat with two front socks. He had the energy of four horses as a newborn, but when it came time to saddle him, he shied away. He would not take the bit willingly, and any sort of tack gave him too much anxiety to be of use. My father was prepared to sell him, or shoot him, but I asked for the steed as my birthday present. My father said 'Fine. He's as stubborn and foolish as you. Maybe you'll drive each other mad.' He was angry at the time. I didn't take offense._

 _I rode that horse without any tack at all, and we were the best of friends for seven years. I don't know what became of him, but I hope his new owner understands his peculiar nature and appreciates him._

 _As for when to ride, I wish I could predict the perfect time to ride so that I came home in a drizzle. The air before rain is refreshing, but coming home soaked is not so much. Roscoe, my horse, liked the rain, though. He always stuck his nose up and tried to eat it._

 _I ride alone these days, and without Roscoe. I admit, I see the appeal of riding solo, and I would do anything to get a few hours of peace away from this manor. However, I prefer to ride with company. The only person I currently like enough to ride with regularly is Allison, but maybe soon I can ride with a new companion – one with a young, feisty horse that has gusto bordering on foolishness._

 _Yours, Stiles'_

* * *

No one noticed Stiles in town. No one ever did these days. It was his plain clothes. It was his tan. It was the fact that he walked into town instead of stepping out of a fancy carriage. To anyone with power, Stiles was invisible. His position as scribe may afford him some luxury and status, but only in the company of his mistress. In the streets and shops of town, he was just another servant.

Stiles always allowed himself a moment to feel down about that, but then he shook it off and continued on with his day. He'd had a long time to grow accustomed to being nobody, and it didn't get to him the way it used to. Now he just enjoyed the conversation of the maid he accompanied on a shopping trip.

Officially, Gerard only let Stiles go because he could, theoretically, defend the maid from thieves or carry heavy baskets. Unofficially, Stiles had set up that reasoning so he could go on walks with his favorite maids. They took the worker's carriage into town, a plain thing for utility not show, but they got to walk all over without anyone spying on them or telling them what to do. It was nice.

He also enjoyed shopping, actually. Sifting through stalls for the perfect fruit; feeling swatches for the perfect fabric; rummaging through junk to find that one cool artifact – he really did find joy in it. Back when his name had been longer than six letters, he'd never taken the time to enjoy markets and shops – at least not normal ones. He'd always preferred the outlandish shops. Well. He still preferred those, but he no longer had the funds necessary to frequent them. So he found joy in everyday shopping. Or at least in teasing the maid about her choices or making jokes about the fruit.

"Look! This one looks like Earl Gévaudan," Stiles said, holding up a pale fruit. A quince was a naturally knobby pear-like fruit, but this type was even more perfect for the joke because it was almost as white as Gerard Argent's skin.

The maid, Caitlyn, covered her mouth to smother her laughter and shook her head. "Stiles, that is terrible!" she exclaimed when she could breathe again. "You really shouldn't joke like that."

"Ah, what's the worst that could happen?" he asked. He meant it rhetorically, but Caitlyn's laughing smile died instantly and he groaned. "No. Stop it. Everyone needs to stop thinking about that stuff, alright? I'm fine."

"You always say that." She paid for her produce and led Stiles into a shop next door.

"And I'm always right." Stiles darted in behind her, barely sliding through the door before it shut. Sure, he could have grabbed it to stop it closing, but this way was more exciting. He slid in front of the maid and held up his hand. "Caitlyn, who was right about the weather when you and the others wanted to go on a picnic and I said it would rain on you?"

Caitlyn sighed and rolled her eyes. "You were."

"And who was right when guessing that Reddick had a crush on the milkmaid?" Stiles paused and grinned. "And then proceeded to trick him into confessing to the wrong milkmaid?"

Now Caitlyn was smiling too, remembering those shenanigans. "You, Stiles. Now shut up. I see what you're doing." She pushed past him to examine the fabrics on display.

"What am I trying to do, Caitlyn?" Stiles kept pace behind her as she moved around the shop, checking colors and knit counts.

"Make me believe that everything is fine." She paused by a deep red swath of fabric and nodded. "Alright. Then okay. I'll pretend that everything is fine. And you can go on being a dumb idiot."

"Hey!" Stiles complained, but Caitlyn turned and bopped him on the nose with one finger.

"No complaints, Mister. We've all got to make sacrifices, and yours is to deal with people thinking you're a fool. Now zip your lips and help me get a few yards of this red one." She leaned around Stiles to get the shop keeper's attention and waved him over.

Finally, Stiles took noticed of the red fabric. Crimson, really. It was like satin, though Stiles had very little knowledge in fashion and it could have as easily been cotton without him knowing any better. There was thin red thread sewn in delicate patterns across the whole roll of fabric, giving it a mildly oriental feel.

Forehead knitting together curiously, Stiles asked, "Why are we buying this?"

"Lady Katherine needs a new gown for the ball next week," Caitlyn explained. "Although, if I'm honest, I think she's going to save it for whenever Mr. Hale finally visits."

The shop keeper stepped over and helped Caitlyn unroll the fabric and count the appropriate amount of yardage. Then he stepped over to the counter and cut the fabric for her. Finally, he folded the fabric and placed it in a brown bag.

"I can't wait to see Lady Argent attempting to pull this one off," he remarked as he handed it over. When he and Stiles locked eyes, the shop keeper winked to punctuate his joke. Surprising. Stiles had never really heard townspeople making fun of the Argents.

"Oh stop, Mr. Hewitt," Caitlyn said with a grin, lightly smacking him in the shoulder. "Between the two of you, I don't know who's worse." She sighed then and rubbed the spot on Mr. Hewitt's shoulder that she'd hit. "I'll truly miss you when you've gone, though."

"You're leaving?" Stiles asked. Mr. Hewitt had dark skin and short hair and generally looked as presentable as a shop keeper should, but he also had tiny hoop earrings that were sure to get him peculiar stares in good company. Stiles liked them though. He didn't recognize the shop keeper, but someone moving away was always interesting gossip, and also a little sad of course.

Mr. Hewitt nodded and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly through his nose. "Yep. The whole family is. We're opening a shop over in Greenburg. It'll be sad to leave here – I mean, I grew up here, you know? – but the rent is cheaper there, and I hear Baron Posey is a good landlord. The population is supposed to be more… diverse? I suppose? I guess I'll find out when I move there."

"Maybe your accessories won't be as frowned upon in diverse society," Caitlyn said and reached up to touch one of Mr. Hewitt's earrings. He leaned away before she could, laughing.

"Maybe. I mean, that's the hope, right?" He glanced over at Stiles and swallowed nervously. Nervously? Why on earth would Stiles make anyone nervous? "You don't mind them, right?"

"Me?" Stiles startled at being called out. He quickly shook his head. "No. I really like them. I think they look good on you. I mean, I wish I had that kind of… confidence?" Now he was just starting to sound dumb. But seriously, he just wanted the shop keeper to relax a bit.

Mission complete. Stiles' stupid little ramble released some of the tension in the darker man's shoulders, and he smiled again. It was a slightly different smile than the one he gave Caitlyn, but Stiles couldn't place why.

Caitlyn led Mr. Hewitt away then, asking for help with other fabrics. Apparently the gown for Kate was not the only article of clothing she was going to be making in the coming days. Like most people, the Argents bought the majority of their clothes from shops, but for special events or balls, they had them all personally sewn. Caitlyn was a seamstress by trade, but since she didn't need to make clothes for the Argents continuously, she also worked on commission to other important families. And if no one needed a seamstress for a while? Well, then Caitlyn did the shopping. Now it seemed she was doing both jobs at once.

Throughout their time in the shop, Stiles noticed Mr. Hewitt throw him several more curious looks, and he grew more and more confused. They weren't scared looks or angry scowls. They were interested or hopeful or just shy smiles. It wasn't until they were being waved off by Mr. Hewitt that Stiles finally thought he understood, and he was so shocked by his realization that he missed the last step back onto the street and almost fell over. As it was, he just stumbled ungracefully before catching himself.

"I'm completely alright," Stiles assured Caitlyn, who had rushed to him. Then he glanced back at Mr. Hewitt, stunned in the doorway. "I'm fine," he said. "I'm fine."

Mr. Hewitt nodded, his face still a little worried, and then retreated inside. Caitlyn didn't take his word for it and looked him over all around before allowing him to take one more step. Caution kept Stiles from making any inquiries until they were several shops away, but his curiosity wouldn't let him stay silent any longer.

However, when he opened his mouth to speak, Caitlyn beat him to it and he was left gaping like a dried out fish.

"I think Mason was flirting with you," Caitlyn said. "Or, at the very least, he found you attractive."

"I-" Stiles started to argue the point but then realized what exactly she'd said. "I knew it! I was about to ask you! I noticed something was going on but I wasn't sure." He nearly dropped the basket in his right hand from shaking it too much in his excitement. "But I don't know why he'd bother, since he's moving soon. And anyway, he could do way better than me."

"Well there's another point we'll have to disagree upon, I'm afraid," Caitlyn said with a hidden smile. "I can count on one hand the number of people who don't think you're attractive. And I don't just mean your pretty face, either." She reached over to touch the only visible bruise on Stiles, a light purple discoloration on the right side of his jaw, back near his ear. "Bruised or not."

"Well at least we're not focusing on my bruises anymore," Stiles answered sarcastically, with a false cheery tone.

Caitlyn laughed a little as they found their carriage and stepped inside, ready for an easy trip home. "You're definitely a fool, Stiles."

Well, she had been right in the shop. As much as he wanted to, he really couldn't argue with that. He spent the whole ride back thinking about how a stranger had openly found him attractive. It had been so long since anyone had flirted with him… at least in person. Derek might have flirted, but it was hard to tell on paper.

Mr. Hewitt. Mason. If he weren't moving away, Stiles wondered if he'd have gone back to visit the man. He was barely younger than Stiles and clearly interested. Sure, Stiles had a crush on an Earl, but would he really pass on a chance at a real relationship? With someone more on his level?

He stared out the window and wondered. Even if Mason Hewitt was moving away soon… should he go back and visit anyway?


	7. Chapter 7

It rained for two days. Sorry. That was too kind. The skies unloaded a new ocean for two days. Even safely inside the manor, Stiles could see the way the yard was flooding. The stone path to the road was a river, muddy and at least two inches deep.

Allison spent her time with Stiles during those days, because none of her tutors would risk the journey to school her. Stiles, never able to hide anything from her, confessed his attraction to Mason Hewitt and his plans to visit the shop as soon as the weather permitted.

Day three saw an end to the rain, and then all the servants were outside, tending to the yard and cleaning the paths. Stiles wasn't required to help, but he did anyway. He complained the whole time, though no one took him seriously since they knew he could stop if he wanted to.

Allison wasn't allowed to help in the yard, so instead she made sure the kitchen staff brought out drinks to keep them hydrated. For a good while, she stood at the front door and tried to give encouragement, but then her father pulled her away for French lessons.

By mid-afternoon, the front yard was becoming presentable. The stone pathways were clear and brushed clean. The grass was edged and cut into formation. Debris had been collected and taken behind the house to be burned. Stiles didn't want to think about the back yard. It was twice as large as the front, and animals lived back there. It wouldn't just be mud they ran into.

That was for the next day, though. First it was a round of showers, a well-deserved meal, and a good night's rest. When morning came, Stiles and the others gathered in the hall by the back door and started discussing which areas to hit first. Luckily, or unluckily depending on your view, Stiles was spared from the yard work.

"I need you to write for me," Kate said. That was all. But then, what more did she need to say?

Stiles apologized to the servants, who waved him off with smiles, and followed Kate down the hall to the study. Kate was dressed to go hunting, but Stiles hadn't heard any news about such plans since the storm. Sitting down at his desk, Stiles figured Kate was in the getup for mental reasons – she was in a hunting mindset… or she was just mental. Whichever.

"Another love letter for Lord Hale?" Stiles asked, reaching for his papers.

The paper scattered to the floor when he jerked back. Kate had struck him with an open palm. Being slapped wasn't unusual for him, but so soon after one of her father's beatings was. He stared up at her, shocked and holding his face.

"No," she snapped. "I'm about to start writing those letters myself, actually. With your level of skill, I'll still be hinting at romance with him in my grave. If it wasn't for you, I'd have the man already in my bed."

Stiles felt his stomach fall clean through the floor. "You aren't… going to use me for Lord Hale's letters anymore?"

Kate scoffed and walked halfway across the room, apparently too disgusted to look at him. For a long moment, she faced the window, faced away from Stiles, and tapped her fingers on her crossed arms. Then she let out an aggravated sigh and took a seat as far from Stiles as she could.

"Let's focus on the current matter, alright?" She leaned back in her chair, very un-ladylike. "I need you to direct a letter to Mr. Adrian Harris. He's a doctor in Greenburg."

The name of the town had Stiles remembering his trip with Caitlyn. He remembered Mr. Mason Hewitt and his hoop earrings. The Hewitts were moving to Greenburg, and Stiles hadn't visited them yet because of the rain. He'd almost forgotten.

"Are you ready?" Kate asked, annoyed.

"Sorry." Stiles retrieved his pages and snatched up a quill.

"Honestly, how do you function on a daily basis?" She scoffed again. "Be glad I'm sitting so far away or I might hit you again."

"Ready," Stiles said instead of responding to her comments.

' _Dear Mr. Harris,_

 _I write to you in hopes that you may be able to procure for me the same medication I received from you five years ago. The moringa root was quite effective in restoring my condition. However, I have recently begun to experience the same style of complications as I experienced back then, and I truly believe your simple remedy is all I'll need to improve my quality of life._

 _If you still have access to the moringa root, I guarantee you that price is not a concern. Write back with your requirements, and I shall meet them at once._

 _Lady Katherine Argent_

As Kate read over the letter, Stiles cleaned his quill and bit his lip. He hadn't known Kate to ever be ill. Especially not ill enough to request the help of an apothecary in another county. He tried to remember her taking an herbal remedy five years ago, but that was silly. He'd only come to work for her four years ago. Of course he'd have no memory of it.

"Sufficient," she said and handed him back the paper. "Send it off immediately. Then return to me. We're going to pen a new style of letter to Derek Hale."

"I thought you weren't going to use me anymore for him," Stiles said and expertly kept the hope from his voice or face.

"Question me again and I won't. This letter is going to be different from your others. And if you mess it up, I'll do worse than taking you off this project. I'll find a new scribe entirely." With that, she plopped down on the sofa in the middle of the room and proceeded to pretend he didn't exist.

Careful not to crush the letter he'd just written, Stiles folded it and sealed it in an envelope. Whatever condition Kate had, Stiles hoped it made her miserable for a long, long time.

* * *

They had not received an answer to their last letter to Derek Hale yet. To be fair, they'd only sent it out the day before the storm, and Derek was an extremely busy man even without weather hindering the post. But from Kate's mood, one would think a full week had passed without response. When Stiles reentered the study after sending off Mr. Harris' letter, she was lying on the couch, and yet somehow she looked as stiff and uncomfortable as if she were lying on the floor.

Without a word, Stiles returned to his desk and prepped his paper and quill.

"What are we writing today?" Stiles asked.

"Something sexy," Kate answered. She sounded constricted, like the discomfort in her posture was caused by being squeezed, though her clothes did not appear too tight. "I'm not sure if your skills extend into this arena, and I want it done properly, so if you don't think you're up for the task, let me know immediately. I'll find someone else."

Pride flared in Stiles and he frowned. "I can do anything," he replied.

"Good." She sat up and set him with an intense stare. "I hope you're as prepared as you pretend to be."

She rattled off her idea for a letter, giving rather specific details, and never took her eyes from Stiles. She looked neither happy nor upset, just intense. Her tone treated the letter like business, though the contents should arouse some embarrassment, or at the very least some excitement. When she was finished, she left Stiles alone to write. As in, she left the room.

This was highly unusual, as she normally wanted to read the letter as soon as it was complete. But she seemed to understand that this letter was not like other letters, and had the decency to give him some privacy to think.

What had Stiles been thinking? He shouldn't have declared his skill so boldly.

With a deep breath, he dunked his quill and then discovered his hand was shaking. He cleared his throat and tightened his grip on the quill momentarily to banish the nerves. Then, trying not to put too much thought into what he was doing, he set pen to paper.

' _Dearest Derek,_

 _I could not wait for your next letter. My feelings have been wound tight from me holding them back for so long. The time has come for me to express myself as truly as I can through paper. The truth is that I do not wish to help you find a bride. I do not wish to see you in the arms of others. In fact, my feelings are quite the opposite of those I expressed to you some months ago. I am not a willing assistant in your search for love._

 _I wish to be your love. I write to you each time with the intention of winning your affections, of being drawn within your powerful gravity. You must know how I am. I am a physical woman. For too long I have hidden the ways I desire you. I have tip toed and been coy, but no longer._

 _I want to pull your arms around my body and feel the strength in your biceps. I want to hold myself against you, so that when you move I feel the taut muscles of your chest. I want to feel the fullness of your striking ass cupped in my hands. I want to learn every muscle in your body as if it were my own and have you do the same of mine, fingers stroking each one as we learned their names._

 _I dream of a night, dark with desire, when I let fall the silly confinements of being a lady and let you see me as I am, as God intended. I have dreamt of what your passionate eyes may look like as they touched upon every part of me, and their penetrating intensity gave me shivers._

 _There you have it. I have laid bare my true feelings and intentions. I dream of you, Dearest Derek. I want you._

 _Write back soon, or I shall take it as a grave insult. I jest. But do write, Dear Derek. Waiting for your letters makes me tremble in anticipation._

 _Yours in every way,_

 _Katherine_

Stiles felt himself trembling a little too. He'd just written that. He'd just written to Derek about wanting to spend a night of passion with him and detailing the fine aspects of his body. Something stirred in his gut. He'd expected to feel a little disgusted when writing such a thing for Kate, but instead he found himself… aroused. And maybe a little bit ashamed about it.

He had no idea what Derek really looked like, but in his mind he could imagine the night Kate had described. Derek had no face, but he could picture a taut, toned chest, a pair of strong, protective arms, and an impressively shaped ass. He could imagine the intimate detail of large hands drifting down his body, pointing out parts Derek particularly liked, down and down and down-

Stiles choked a little on his own imagination and pressed a hand firmly into his crotch to snap himself out of it.

Trying to distract himself, he pulled out a new sheet of paper.

' _Dear Derek,_

 _I have no words or explanations. I hold you to no expectation of a reply. If you can't find the right thing to say, know that I have nothing against you._

 _Stiles'_

If Derek had no feelings for Kate, there was very little he could use as an excuse to continue writing, even if he did like writing to Stiles. Kate had propositioned him. No proper gentleman, much less a future Earl, could rationalize keeping up a correspondence with such a person unless they had the same desires.

Stiles really hoped Derek's only response was a brief and unmistakable rebuttal.

* * *

Mind riddled with sexual frustration, Stiles went about his day about twice as clumsy as he normally was. It wasn't that he was normally clumsy, per say, but he did sometimes bump into walls, or try to sit down a bit too early and miss the chair, or on one notable occasion from long before joining the Argents, he had gone to get a snack from the kitchens, tried to throw a flirty line at a worker, leaned toward the counter, missed, knocked over a stack of dishes and broke them all on the floor while sending a wooden spoon skyward, which landed on the stove, where it immediately caught fire and scared the chef, who jolted and sent hot oil splattering everywhere, which started an even larger fire, which basically ended with the house needing a whole new kitchen. End of story.

Stiles liked to pretend he had amnesia about that day.

Anyway, all his distracted mind meant was that he got a few new bruises from the edge of hallway walls and he tripped going up the stairs and maybe he tried to wash a horse with feed when he mixed up the buckets. All in all, he was doing alright.

He told Allison as much when they got together to play dominos after dinner. She almost laughed at him, but she was too shocked by her aunt's inappropriate letter to really manage it. With both of them distracted, the game took much longer than usual, but Stiles won in the end.

That night, he lay in bed, staring at his empty ceiling, his empty walls, his broken nightstand, and he imagined that Derek never had to deal with such a boring, ramshackle room. Derek probably had gold molding on his walls, intricate paintings and tapestries hanging everywhere. His room would be three times the size of Stiles', if not more, and would have a sitting room attached. There would be an ornate table with two oak chairs midway between the door and bed, where Derek could sit and entertain himself before venturing out into society. Stiles could see him there, reading a thick tome about improved carriage designs or better business practices.

Derek's nightstand would be dark, to match the chairs, but carved with forest scenes, and the handles would be golden, or at least brass. He'd keep his current read in the drawer for ease of access before retiring for the night. The bed itself would be fit for a king, with four posts and sheer draping. There would be curtains pinned up, for show rather than for use, except for those rare days when Derek finally let himself sleep in and needed to block the sun.

The quilt would be thick and warm in winter, but replaced with something a bit thinner for those hot summer months. And when Derek had special company, the quilt would be cast off entirely. He'd drop the curtains part way for privacy, slide over the coverlet, and lie beside his partner. Maybe they'd talk about getting a new couch in the study, adding a desk to the sitting room, or replacing the finials on the bed with wolf heads. More than likely, they'd skip talking entirely.

Derek would use his strong hands to pull open Stiles' shirt, maybe losing a button or two, and they'd kiss the way some people drank – deep and desperate. Stiles would feel that taut chest, those firm biceps, that toned butt, and Derek would drift his hands all over Stiles' body, just the way Kate had suggested – memorizing every intimate detail. And he wouldn't hold it against Stiles that he'd lost weight since becoming a scribe, that his skin was more tan than it had ever been and his freckles and moles somehow stood out even more. No, Derek would whisper that he loved those moles, and he'd trace his way down Stiles' body, mole to freckle to shameful scar. He'd kiss the scars too, even the burned ones on Stiles' back, and then those hands- those strong hands- tugging Stiles' pants off, pressing firmly into the skin of Stiles' thighs, drifting closer and lower and-

Stiles moaned loudly, one hand on his crotch, the other gripping his shirt over his chest. He hadn't meant to start fantasizing, but his brain was so full of Kate's suggestive words, of the words he'd written down himself. It was impossible not to realize how long it had been since he'd let himself dream of someone wanting him, of imaging the physical touch of someone that loved and desired him. He was still a virgin, but his body knew what felt good, knew what it wanted.

Desire made Stiles' whole body tingle and ache, and there'd be no relief to let him sleep unless he finished what his mind had started. Biting his lip, he pushed his underwear aside and let his imagination fill with thoughts of the mysterious Derek Hale, supposedly so rugged, so sexy, so strong. For a few blissful moments, Stiles was not in his dingy bedroom, but was laid out on Derek Hale's masterpiece of a bed, being worshipped by an equally masterful lover. He was kissed and touched as much as his body could handle, and then some, brought right to the edge of sanity.

When it was over, and sleep was finally able to creep up on him, Stiles' mind suddenly flashed to the crimson fabric in the shop three days prior. Mason Hewitt's glinting silver earrings and smooth dark skin floated to the surface of his memories, and he remembered: fantasies like this didn't necessarily have to stay fantasies. Someone in reality liked him.

* * *

The shop was closed.

Stiles stood in the street, staring at the sign in the window, his chest heavy and feeling crushed. The sign did not say 'closed'. The sign said 'for rent'. The Hewitts and their fabric store had moved, were gone, forever. The storm had shut their doors for two days, and they'd been able to pack up much sooner than expected. The neighboring store owner had told Stiles all about how efficient the move had been once the storm had ended, how the whole family and all of their products had been gone before the end of the day. Stiles was two days late.

Then the neighboring shop owner had made a disparaging racist comment about being quite glad the family had finally moved, and Stiles had to leave before he did something that got himself arrested, although he couldn't stop himself from at least shoving the man back through his own shop door.

This was it. Stiles was destined to die alone, penniless, and a virgin. He'd finally found someone attractive who also found him attractive and wasn't too afraid to flirt a little to prove it. He'd finally decided to go for it, to try and start a relationship of some kind, and he'd missed the opportunity.

If life were a novel, this would be the time for a twist that had Stiles catching up to the Hewitts or finding out Mason had stayed behind for him. Alas, it was just life, and Mason was gone.

Dragging his feet, Stiles walked slowly home, taking extra time to admire the scenery and push thoughts of his missed romance away. He should stay positive. One day, someday, he'd meet someone. Right? And he'd forget about cute shopkeepers and lofty earls, and he'd be happy with the person he was with, whatever profession they held.

Yes. One day, Stiles would be happy. Honestly happy.

He crossed the threshold of the Argent estate and instantly came face to face with a nervous looking servant. When the boy saw Stiles, his eyes went wide and he shook his head. His mouth opened, but before he could speak, Gerard's voice reached them.

Stiles sighed. He'd have to push his happy dreams aside for a moment and return to his 'tough enough to survive' thought process. Damn this old man.

"The shameful scribe returns," Gerard drawled, shambling slowly toward him. "Do you know why I call you shameful today, _Stiles_?" He said the name like a bitter aftertaste.

"Something different than normal?" Stiles asked, sounding as unperturbed as possible.

The old man's face wrinkled with disgust and he waved one hand wildly in the direction of the front door. "You are shameful because you assist my daughter in sullying her reputation! It's not bad enough that she drinks too much in public? That she seduces lovers from all ranks of life? I cover up her scandals under my own roof, but now you expose her to another home? Another county?!"

Stiles frowned deeply. "What are you talking about?"

Sure, everyone in the house knew that Kate was wild, and for far more reasons than drinking and seduction, and that the only thing keeping her reputation above water was her father's money, but how had Stiles made any of that worse?

"I heard about the letter," Gerard sneered, voice low and dangerous. "The Hales will have it by now, and soon everyone important in Beacon will hear of it as well. If, by some miracle, the family finds it too embarrassing to share, then count yourself lucky. If I get a whiff of that family looking down on me for this, I'll only break your spirit. But if they let anyone else know, if the rumor spreads, you'll wish you'd never been born."

Sometimes Stiles already did that, but he didn't voice his thought. Instead he asked, "And how on earth am I supposed to stop rumors getting out now?"

Gerard stepped closer. "If I find out you've written anymore… _letters_ like that one, you won't have to ask that question."

"You want me to refuse to write letters?" Stiles asked, incredulous. He glanced around to see if anyone else heard how ludicrous Gerard sounded. The boy servant from before just looked scared. Beyond him, no one else had heard anything because no one else was around. Stiles turned his gaze back to Gerard. "She'll never stand for that. You know it. If that's what she wants, she'll force me write them."

"Then I guess I'll have to give her no choice," Gerard said, almost sounding like he agreed with Stiles.

It happened very fast, so fast that Stiles didn't have time to register he was even in danger. Gerard's wrinkled hands snatched up Stiles' right hand and twisted. Something snapped.

Stiles screamed. It filled the whole estate and drew the rest of the Argents to the scene, but Stiles didn't care. His knees hit the floor and tears stung his eyes, and he held his injured hand to his chest. By the time Allison dropped beside him, he was rocking.

All the Argents were shouting then, arguing with one another about what had happened. Kate was livid about losing her scribe. Gerard was unashamed of defending his family's honor. Chris was saying his father had finally gone too far. Allison was accusing them all of being insane and asking Stiles if he was okay, her voice still raised two levels too high in anger.

Stiles hissed and rocked and clenched his teeth around the pain. Allison shouted for the boy servant to fetch a doctor. Stiles shook his head, but not at her. Anger and fear were welling up inside him, and all his happy future thoughts were crushed under the weight of his unforgiving present. Stiles screamed through his tight closed lips and wished desperately to go home.


	8. Chapter 8

Two broken fingers. On his writing hand.

Someone could shoot Gerard Argent in front of Stiles, and he wouldn't lift a finger to help. Because his fingers were broken. His Fingers Were Broken!

Stiles perched on the windowsill in Allison's room and glared at his hand. His first three fingers were strapped together to keep the first two from bending, a metal slab was taped on to assist with the bending problem, and another couple of straps ran around his hand in opposite directions to hold the whole rig in position. His hand was a mummy. Stiles was furious.

"I'm a scribe, Allison," Stiles murmured darkly. He stood up suddenly, throwing his good hand out to the side. "I'm a scribe! How can I work if he breaks my God damn hand?!"

"I can't believe him," Allison agreed with a tight forehead. "I know he's been cruel and violent, but this is going too far. He's trying to take your livelihood."

"Screw your grandfather, Allison. And screw your aunt." Stiles paced several feet closer to her and then back to the window. "Actually. Screw your dad too. Screw everyone but you." He turned to the door and took a deep breath. "I hate all of you!"

Allison stood from her small table and slapped her hands down on the wood. "Now that's enough," she snapped. "My father has never hurt you."

"No. He just stands on the side and watches," Stiles agreed coldly.

"He hates it just as much as I do." Allison glared at him. "Don't turn your venom on him just because he doesn't cry for you. My father was in a screaming match with my grandfather for three hours yesterday while you were taken to the hospital."

"Oh no. I'm honored," Stiles answered sarcastically. "He got into a fight with daddy."

"He defended you!" Allison shouted.

"He doesn't care about me!" Stiles shouted back, throwing both hands out despite how it made his fingers sting. Allison flinched back at his volume, louder than her own. "Your father avoids me like a dirty dog, Allison! He treats me like I'm not even here! And you think, because he argued with Gerard, that he suddenly gives a shit about my wellbeing?!"

In the deafening silence that surrounded them, Stiles remembered his last fight with his own father. His voice, all these years later, sounded surprisingly like his father's. He could hear the same inflections, the same tone and deepness. He remembered how his father loved to smile – so unlike Christopher Argent – and he found his legs too weak to support him.

He fell back onto the window seat and covered his face with his good hand. A half sob tried to escape him, but he mostly managed to hold it in. His father was dead. His home and friends were gone. His only romance was in his head. And now his hand, his only source of remaining dignity and income, was broken.

"He doesn't care about me," he muttered into his palm. "My damn… My hand is broken." His eyes slipped shut and he moved his hand up to cover them. "I'm sorry." He was being a jerk, blaming Allison and her father, but honestly he was just so scared. If he couldn't write anymore, what was he going to do?

He didn't hear Allison moving, but he felt her arms when she reached him and slid them around his shoulders. "I'm sorry too." She pressed her face into his hair. "I'm going to get you out of here, Stiles. I'm going to find a way to free you from my family. I promise."

"Yeah," Stiles said with a hint of his normal sass. "I haven't heard that one before."

"I really mean it this time," Allison promised. "By the time I leave for school, I'll figure something out."

Well she better get a move on, Stiles thought. She was leaving in a few months.

* * *

The next week dragged by. Stiles stayed shut up in his or Allison's rooms for the first two days, but then his nervous energy got the better of him. He couldn't sit still. Despite his useless hand, he tried to be useful around the manor. The servants all expressed their condolences when they saw his hand and then pointedly refused to let him do anything strenuous. It was rather sweet.

He could carry one light bucket or basket; he could hand people things; he could let the dogs out into the yard and call them back in, and maybe even throw a ball for them to chase; but if the activity required his right arm at all, no one would let him do it. His hand was the broken part, but everyone assumed Stiles was going to ruin the healing process if he so much as leaned on a door to open it with his right shoulder. It was very annoying.

Still, Stiles wanted to be active, so bland tasks were better than no tasks. When no one needed him, he walked the perimeter of the yard like a guard dog. He wasn't really guarding anything, just watching the distant greenery, but he liked the image of himself as a protector so he didn't correct Allison when she suggested the idea.

Mostly the week felt long because Kate Argent was stressed out and making everyone around her extra on edge. Sir Derek Hale had not responded to her letter, and she couldn't understand why.

"When I last met him, he would have jumped at the idea of my interest. He was always aiming to please me, wanting my attentions. Did he grow dumb with age? Why hasn't he responded yet? Certainly he's had time, even if he is in training for his title."

And she was increasingly frustrated that Stiles was in no position to continue the conversation. He was not ambidextrous, so his letters looked nothing like letters when he made an attempt the day after his injury. Yep, because that's how long it took Kate to try and find a way around her father's 'gag'.

Every day, Kate found Stiles before breakfast and spent a good minute staring at his wrapped hand. She couldn't see the damage through the straps and bandages, but she sure liked to pretend she could. It was as if she expected to wake up one morning and find Stiles' hand miraculous healed. Maybe someone should have explained to her that broken fingers could take over a month to heal. Oh wait, the doctor _had_ told her.

The broken fingers ached constantly. Pain relieving medication and teas could numb the sensation, but the fracture still tingled. Once a night in the first week, Stiles woke from a dead sleep because of the pain. Because no one shared his room, he had to sloppily find his medicine each time, in the dark, and brace himself against the pain until the drugs kicked in.

Yes. It was a very long first week.

Derek didn't write to Kate, and he also didn't write to Stiles. Sure, Stiles had told Derek that he didn't expect a letter after Kate's completely inappropriate proposal, but he'd still been hoping for a memo or telegram of some sort just so he'd know Derek got his letter at all. Sure. But Stiles didn't take his disappointment out on the entire household, and not only because his hand hurt.

At the end of the first week, Stiles woke, sweaty and suffering. He squeezed his eyes shut and reached for his medication but found a hand instead. Looking over, he saw one of the kitchen maids sitting at his bedside. He wanted to complain about being seen in his weakness, but the irony was that he was too weak to care.

She helped him with his medication and then produced his breakfast. It wasn't odd for a servant to help him eat this past week, what with him being down one hand, but it was a little surprising that he was being fed in bed. By the time the meal was finished, the medicine had also begun to work, and Stiles was feeling like he may actually be able to face the day.

"I'm sorry," the maid said as she gathered the dishes. "I wish you could lie here, unbothered, until you'd healed. I'm sorry."

Stiles didn't have to wonder long about what she meant. She'd barely left the room when Katherine Argent appeared and ordered him to the study. On a regular day, Stiles would think she wanted him to write, but as he couldn't bend his fingers, he knew that was impossible. So, curious, he followed her.

They passed Caitlyn on the way and she covertly handed him the sprig of mint she always kept on her person just in case he needed it. He mouthed his thank you and then she was gone.

In the study, Stiles instantly noticed that a stack of papers had been set up on the writing desk. Beside them, his quill and ink were prepared. But no-

"Lord Hale needs a reminder," Kate said, her tone frenetic, and motioned to the desk.

"You honestly can't be serious," Stiles replied, not moving.

His fingers were broken. Hadn't they already gone through this last week? Fingers didn't heal in a week. Kate knew that. Stiles knew that. EVERYONE knew that. How could she think he'd be able to write after only a week?

"Sit down, _Stiles_ , or I'll break your other hand," she threatened. "Your hand might hurt now, but it's nothing compared to what we'll both feel if you fail to bring Derek Hale to me."

The threat in her voice and eyes forced him into the chair, but he still shook as he reached for the quill with his left hand. "It won't be pretty," he said.

"Use your actual writing hand," Kate ordered. "It might be messy, but at least that way it'll be legible."

Following orders, Stiles penned a short message to Lord Derek Hale. Kate would have liked it longer, but every stroke of the quill had Stiles clenching his teeth and wincing. By the last line, he could no longer hold the quill steady and dropped it. It rolled off the paper, a dribble of ink streaking the letter. Sighing in frustration, Kate signed her own name to finish the missive off.

' _Dearest Derek,_

 _I sincerely hope my last letter did not scare you off. I remember how fierce and brave you used to be. Surely you aren't shying away from the path of desire? If you are nervous, shake it off and be free. I will bring you to my breast and hold you until the nerves pass. I will release you from your restraints. Visit and I will show you a new way to live._

 _Katherine Argent'_

"That'll do," she said. Stiles leaned his head on the desk and held his throbbing hand close to his chest. It was quite possibly the worst letter he'd ever written – sloppy and short and not particularly eloquent – but his mind was understandably on other issues.

Unlike normal, Kate was the one to fold the letter, seal it in an envelope, and deliver it to Reddick, the head butler. At first Stiles was thankful. He was able to ride out the aching until a maid brought a pack of ice to hold against his swollen fingers. Then Stiles, head clearer, realized the truth. His injury and Kate's impatience had just resulted in a letter being sent to Derek Hale that contained no accompanying letter from Stiles.

The only other envelope to leave without a letter from Stiles was the very first attempt. It had been so long since Derek's first reply, with the hidden note that called Stiles 'pretty'. They had exchanged countless letters in the interim – or not countless. Stiles had counted them many times. He had a full forty-four letters folded up in a box under his clothes in the dresser.

Stiles wondered what Derek would think when he opened the envelope and saw Stiles hadn't written anything.

Stiles wondered if Derek would open the envelope at all. Would he even care that he was missing a letter? Derek was a future Earl. Surely he had more important things to do than write to a scribe, to write even to Lady Katherine Argent. Surely he didn't let the letters distract him during his days.

He probably wouldn't even notice the change.

Stiles hoped he did, even if nothing came of it.

* * *

The next day, a letter arrived for Lady Katherine. To her disappointment, it was not from the Honorable Lord Derek Hale. Instead, it was from the apothecary in Greenburg.

' _Dear Lady Katherine Argent,_

 _I regret to inform you that the moringa root you requested is no longer within my power to come by. The cost of importing it far exceeded any reward from sales. I have another herb in mind for you, but alas I cannot obtain that for you either. I have written to a friend in your county who is known to stock the alternate herb. Hopefully she will contact you shortly and be able to deliver the cure you are so in need of._

 _Thank you for your patronage,_

 _Mr. Adrian Harris'_

The note gave Stiles some pleasure, since it meant that whatever was plaguing Kate would continue to plague her for a short while longer than she'd hoped. The note sent Kate into a rage. She ranted about the uselessness of men, the failures of the untitled. She was so distracted by her anger, in fact, that she didn't notice Stiles slipping from the room.

He really didn't want to wait for her to finish, because he suspected she'd force him to write a reply.

Stiles came into the main hall just as the Honorable Christopher Argent descended the staircase. The man paused on the last step and regarded Stiles with a strange sadness in his eyes that Stiles had never before seen directed at him.

"Sir?" Stiles asked, slipping his injured hand behind his back in case that was the cause of Lord Argent's anxiety. Stiles already had the servants treating him like a delicate fern. He didn't need Lord Argent to have another excuse to avoid him.

Lord Argent said nothing, and they stood in the entry hall, watching each other. Christopher Argent was a handsome older gentleman, the likes of which would have fit nicely into a novel to save a damsel from a life of abject poverty. The servants, including some of the men, had remarked on his looks and personality as a reason to like him above all other Argents, including Allison, but as Stiles knew nothing of this winning personality, he'd pick Allison every time.

It was true though that Christopher had compelling, expressive eyes, and his mouth often gave away his thoughts without him speaking a word. In the moment, pinned on the final stair, he seemed to be apologizing for something, and Stiles could only assume the expression was in response to Stiles' injured livelihood. He didn't want to be pitied – not by anyone, but definitely not by this man, who had ignored him for four years.

Kate's voice could be heard drawing nearer as she came in search of her runaway scribe. As soon as she was visible, Chris tore his eyes from Stiles to look at her instead. It was then that Stiles noticed the open letter dangling from the lord's fingers.

"Chris, what on earth is wrong with you?" Kate asked, snidely. "You look like a distracted drunk."

Glancing down at the letter in his hand, Chris took a deep breath, as though he was sad to report whatever it contained. When he looked up, he was back to ignoring Stiles. With eyes only for his sister, he said, "I have received a letter from Lord Derek Hale. He is coming to visit on business."

Stiles felt his stomach drop. Kate let out a cheer.


	9. Chapter 9

Stiles cursed and dropped to a squat, cradling his hand. He'd been outside for hours, trying to help tend to the horses, but he couldn't grip the brush or… or really anything. It had been two weeks since Gerard broke his fingers, but the digits still weren't healed. As a general rule, Stiles didn't use his right hand for anything, took his medication as ordered, and drank lots of healing tea. However, today was different. Well, honestly, tomorrow was the different day, but today was practice for tomorrow.

Tomorrow, Lord Derek Hale was arriving at the Argent manor. He'd written to Lord Christopher Argent last week, saying his father wanted him to gain experience in business from nearby earls, and Earl Gévaudan was the closest match. Knowing that Gerard would never agree, Derek had instead written to Chris and asked to come shadow him and learn how he helped run the county.

Chris had agreed. And now Stiles was going to meet Derek Hale in person tomorrow.

He wanted to make a great first impression, better than he'd made on paper, but that meant being helpful and Stiles wasn't helpful with anything right now. Every time he tried to do anything, his hand yelled at him for it. Brush a horse? Pain. Carry bags? Pain. Hang up a coat?! Pain!

This was going to be the worst first impression ever. Stiles wasn't even working hard, but the stress and strain, mixed with the heat of the sun, was making him sweat far more than he'd prefer. With his luck, tomorrow Derek would ask him to pass a fork and Stiles would end up on the floor, whining about his fingers and sweating like a sick horse.

That was probably an exaggeration.

"Holy shit," Stiles groaned, pushing himself to his feet as the pain subsided. "Jared, gimme a hand, would you?"

Jared, one of the stable hands, abandoned his own horse and came to Stiles' side in an instant. He looked nauseated. "I don't know how you put up with that stuff," he murmured, looking pointedly at Stiles' hand. "If they ever got violent with me, I- I don't think I could take it. I think I- I might throw up just thinking about it."

Stiles pat the younger man on the back as the boy walked with him to the side of the stable. "It's all good, Jared, so long as you don't throw up on me." He reached for a bucket and Jared jumped to help him lift it.

The bucket was filled with water and meant for rinsing off the horses, but Stiles was hot and sweaty and really didn't care. With Jared's help, he overturned the bucket on his own head, drenching himself in lukewarm water, but avoiding his injured hand. The bare minimum breeze that blew over the yard made the water feel glorious though.

"Ahhhh," Stiles sighed. He dropped the bucket, but Jared still had his hands on it. With a smile, he clapped Jared on the shoulder. "Thank you, Jared. I feel refreshed and rejuvenated, all thanks to you and this bucket of slightly dirty water. Now. If you'll forgive me for not finishing the brush down, I'm going inside."

Jared, flushed, shook his head wildly. "N-No problem at all, sir. I mean, not sir. I mean- Take it easy, Stiles."

"Good man, Jared."

Despite Stiles avoiding the hand in the initial soak, some water was trickling down his arm and getting caught in the wrapping. He'd need to change it soon anyway, and Allison could scold him then. As he walked back to the house, Stiles clumsily fumbled to undo his shirt buttons. He'd managed the top three by the time he stepped inside, and then his attention was elsewhere.

Reddick was arguing with someone. This wasn't unusual for within the household, but it sounded like he was arguing with a stranger. Coming around the corner, dripping water on Gerard's precious hardwood floors, Stiles saw the dark butler motioning angrily toward a mailman.

"I am under orders to deliver it to the scribe of Lady Argent," the mailman was saying. He was a big man, with a good amount of scruff and a pensive looking face. His voice was deep, like he might be angry, but he was clearly trying to remain civil. "If you could just summon him-"

"I am the butler," Reddick was growling. "I determine who gets the letters. Not a simple mailman, like you."

Stiles sneezed. Well, he laughed, but he covered it up as a sneeze. Both men turned and saw him there, on the edge of the carpet, wet. A shiver ran through Stiles, and he didn't know if it was from the attention or the cold.

"Reddick, listen," Stiles said, stepping closer. "I know you like to think of yourself as walking in the footsteps of Earl Gévaudan, but could you perhaps not act like the gunk on the bottom of his shoe for two minutes?"

"Now is not the time for you to insert your ridiculous opinion, Stiles," Reddick sneered. He glared at Stiles' hand. "Don't you need to go cry over your fingers some more?"

Frowning, Stiles glanced down at his splint, then back up at Reddick. "I'm on the mend," he said, but he hid his hand behind his back anyway. "More to the point, why are you shouting at the mailman? He's just doing his job, isn't he? His job is no less important than yours just because you get to stand inside all day."

Reddick sniffed derisively. "I think you'll find my job is far more important than his. And I don't see why anyone thinks the job of a scribe is any better than the mailman's either. You just write a few pretty lines and then spend the rest of the day relaxing, don't you? Oh wait, you can't even write anymore. Maybe we'll finally get lucky, and you'll get thrown out with the trash, where you belong."

If his hand wasn't injured, Stiles would have punched the butler then and there, but it was, so he didn't. Instead, he plastered the fakest, brightest smile on his face that he could manage. "Reddick, if you can't handle your job today, maybe _you_ should leave." He nodded to the mailman. "I'll deliver the letter."

With a great sigh and a roll of his eyes, Reddick did actually begin to leave. "Do as you will, scribe. He claims the letter is for you anyway."

Then Reddick was gone, and it was just Stiles and the mailman. He opened his mouth to speak, but was paused by a serving girl rushing up to hand him a towel. He smiled thankfully and tipped his head toward her. She gave a tiny head nod back and tried not to laugh at him in front of a stranger. Then she was gone, running back down the hall. Stiles threw the towel around his shoulders before returning his attention to the guest.

"Apologies about Reddick," he said, beginning to dry his hair. "He has a self-importance complex. The only people he treats with any kind of respect are the Argents."

"No need to apologize. His actions just show his lack of character," the mailman assured. He was glancing over Stiles, looking for what Stiles wasn't sure. "Did he say you were the scribe? Stiles?"

"Yeah." Stiles pat his face dry and then started on his neck and visible chest. "And did I hear correctly? You have a letter specifically for me?" He hung the towel over one shoulder. "That's unusual. I never get mail."

"Never?" The mailman handed over the envelope, his tone holding suspicious disbelief.

"Well. Not officially, anyway," Stiles admitted with a cheeky grin. He took the letter in his left hand and read the scrawl on the outside that directed it to _Stiles, Argent Estate, G_ _é_ _vaudan._ Wow. It was honestly for him. Not Kate or Allison or anyone else. For the scribe. For Stiles.

Narrowing his eyes, Stiles realized he recognized the script. It looked like Derek's handwriting! Heart leaping into his throat, he held the letter out to the mailman.

"Sorry. Can you- Can you open this for me?" he asked. The mailman made quick work of the seal and then handed the unfolded letter back to Stiles, who eagerly read over the words. Derek had written a letter to him, no pretenses. He felt jittery with nerves.

 _Dear Stiles,_

 _I am coming to visit the Argent household tomorrow. It seems Lady Katherine has gotten her wish for me to visit before autumn takes the color from the trees. My father did not miss the way I was corresponding with someone inside the Argent family, and he suggested I make plans to visit so I could learn how Earl Gévaudan and his son do business in G_ _é_ _vaudan. I agreed to make the trip, both on a business and personal level. Learning from others is, of course, beneficial, but I must admit that I am very intrigued to finally make your acquaintance as well._

 _My hope is that I live up to my title and my own high standards, which I'm sure you know too well from our correspondence. If my appearance or manners disappoint you, you must inform me at once. That is as much a tell of my character as any business decision._

 _Looking forward to meeting you,_

 _Yours,_

 _Derek Hale_

"Good letter?" the mailman asked, and Stiles realized he was smiling.

He cleared his throat and shrugged, doing his best to fold the letter with one hand. "Good enough, I guess." The mailman took the letter and folded it for Stiles before placing it neatly back in its envelope. "Thanks."

"Of course." The mailman handed over the envelope and then cleared his throat too. "Mind if I ask… what happened to your hand?"

Stiles glanced down at his damp, splinted hand. A bubble of anger slipped through him as he remembered what led up to his injury and how Kate and her father had treated him ever since, or actually, just ever. But the mailman didn't need Stiles' life story. He cleared his throat and pushed down his anger.

"Accident," he lied.

A loud scoff drew their attention, and Lady Allison Argent was seen descending the staircase in an elegant yet casual gown. Her father was probably outfitting her for Derek's visit. She folded her arms over her chest and frowned.

"I think he must be asking on behalf of his master, so you shouldn't lie. You work for Lord Hale, I assume," Allison said. She had probably guessed it from Stiles' reaction to the letter. The mailman nodded. "Earl Gévaudan broke Stiles' hand to keep him from writing anymore letters, at least for a short time."

Stiles hissed her name, but Allison ignored him. What if Gerard heard her? And what good would it do to tell the mailman anyway? He'd think Stiles was abused or – well he was abused, but Stiles didn't need everyone knowing that!

"Tell Lord Hale to steer clear of the Argents if he has any intention of engaging my aunt," Allison continued. She was a full head shorter than the mailman, but she was just as imposing.

To Stiles' surprise, the mailman smiled like he wanted to laugh, but he didn't. He tipped his head to the young lady. "Rest assured, my lady. No Hale has any plan to seek attentions from Lady Katherine." He turned back to Stiles, his smile fading and that pensive look returning to his features. He bowed his head again but did not break eye contact. "Good day, Mr. Stiles."

Then he was gone, and Stiles was left feeling winded. He'd been very attractive for a mailman. He'd had the most intense eyes – like a forest in spring.

Allison waved a hand in his face and smirked at him. "Got a crush on the mailman, do we?"

Snorting, Stiles turned away and headed for his room. He needed to hide the newest letter. "Hardly. He was just really attractive, alright? I'm allowed to notice when people are attractive."

He fished out his box of letters and carefully placed the new one on top before hiding the box once more. Allison leaned in the doorway, unimpressed. "Well, prepare yourself then. If the mailman was that attractive, we'll both be blown away by Lord Hale. It's not just my aunt that says he's the most handsome man of their acquaintance." She tapped the doorframe. "Dry off before you catch a cold. I have to go model my dress for grandfather."

Stiles sat on the floor and bit his lip. Maybe Allison was right. They'd heard such grand stories of Derek Hale – and his ass. What if he walked in tomorrow and Stiles tripped over air because he was too hot? Was there any way to prepare for someone being too attractive? Stiles hadn't heard of any. Maybe he was doomed.

* * *

The barouche was spotted coming up the drive just after lunch. Gerard complained that Lord Hale must think himself very important indeed to keep them all waiting for so long. His son, however, assured them that coming after lunch was a courtesy – they would not be expected to feed him. Allison was fussed over by servants, who tried to make her look even more beautiful than she already was, but she quickly sent them away with a flustered huff. Her aunt was practically radiating with anticipation.

"Finally," she whispered desperately.

"Don't work yourself into too much excitement, daughter," Gerard said with an angry grunt. "If I have my way of things, you won't see much of your beau during this visit. Can't have you sullying your name and embarrassing the family any further, now can we?"

For some reason, they both shot wicked glances in Stiles' direction before returning their attentions to the windows, where they could see the barouche's progress.

All servants were sent away, taking the remnants of lunch and clutter with them. Stiles, too, was told to leave the room, which he did with no complaint. He was torn between desperately wanting to meet Lord Derek Hale and wanting to never see his face.

As Stiles passed into the study, he heard the footman announce Lord Derek Hale's arrival. Stiles shut the door firmly and leaned his head against it for a minute. Dinner would be the first time they met, unless Kate or Gerard thought of a reason he couldn't attend.

He waited until he heard the sound of footsteps stop, heard the low rumble of an unfamiliar voice in the distant sitting room. Only then did he reopen the door and step back into the hall.

He'd read Derek's letter three times yesterday, and one part had been on his mind when he woke this morning. What if he and Derek didn't like each other in real life? What if they both failed to live up to the version of themselves on paper? Stiles was far more coordinated in writing. What if Lord Hale saw him bumping into walls or tripping over chairs and thought less of him? What if Stiles' penchant for random facts and rantings annoyed him?

Maybe Stiles could just avoid Lord Hale the whole time he was visiting and then they could go back to letters. Except… Derek couldn't write to him anymore. If Stiles avoided him now, when would he ever have the chance to speak to the man again? Ever?

Stiles wandered the house, his mind clouded by these thoughts, until he ended up in the library. There he sat on a comfortable chair and stared at the wall of bookcases. There were so many books on these shelves, and several of them were novels. Stiles had read a good deal of them, since he had so much free time now that he was a scribe and not… well he was a scribe. None of these books gave him advice on how to move forward.

And he wasn't just talking about with Derek Hale, either.

Logically, he couldn't avoid Derek for the whole month, but Stiles was stubborn and could make a good run at it. However, the more he thought, the more he was sure he didn't want to avoid Derek. If this was the way their relationship had to work, the way their communication could continue, then he wanted to explore it. Writing to Derek had been the most exciting thing to happen to Stiles in a very long time, and he didn't want to lose that.

He didn't know how long he stayed in the library, but when he came out of his thoughts, the sky was turning a gorgeous amber color. No doubt the dinner bell would be rung soon. Stiles jolted from his chair and then groaned as all of his muscles complained. He'd somehow managed to not move at all in a very long time – not something he was known for.

The sound of footsteps in the hall drew his attention, but no one walked into the room. In fact, it sounded like someone walking away from the library. He went to the door, but it was too late to see who it had been. Pressing his lips together, Stiles tried to convince himself it had just been one of the many servants, but sitting in silence for so long had made him jumpy and he doubted even a simple idea such as that.

A chime rang through the house. The dinner bell.

Pushing his thoughts aside, Stiles strode down the hall and across the entryway. Lady Katherine met him outside the dining room and fixed him with a serious stare.

"I'd ask where you've been, but I don't really care," she said, then motioned behind her toward the dining room. "My father has placed me as inconveniently as possible in regards to Lord Hale tonight. Lucky you, he put you across from him, where I should be. Since we're letting you eat with the family, don't be an embarrassment. And if you have the chance, you better make me look good. Understood?"

"Crystal clear," Stiles replied. Mostly he said that because he knew Kate wanted him to say 'understood', and not hearing that got on her nerves. As predicted, she rolled her eyes before turning and entering the room. "Great," Stiles muttered to himself once he was alone. Across from Derek Hale – what could be better? What could be worse?

' _Looking forward to meeting you.'_ That's what Derek had written.

It was the moment of truth. Stiles took a deep breath and pushed open the door.

He was the last to arrive. Earl Gévaudan was sitting at the head of the table and making a suitable attempt to seem amiable despite everyone knowing he hated the Hales. Lord Christopher Argent sat to his right, an actual smile on his face as he discussed plans for the duration of Derek's stay. The two seats beside him were empty, but then the quiet scribes for Lord Argent and Earl Gévaudan were seated in the chairs after that, eyes averted from the family and their guest. They may as well not have been there at all. The seat on Gerard's left was home to Lady Katherine, who was straining to look down at their guest around her niece. Allison was stationed between Kate and Derek, making conversation between the two that much more difficult. The spot across from Allison was empty, as was the seat across from Derek.

Stiles approached the table, his eyes staring holes in the back of Lord Derek Hale's head, his feet moving without conscious thought. A sharp clearing of the throat brought Stiles' attention to Gerard, who motioned to the empty seats.

"Finally, the last of our party has deigned to join us," he grunted, holding in the worst of his usual venom.

As Kate had said, the spot next to Chris and across from Allison was empty, but the spot across from Derek was set up with cutlery. Taking the cue, Stiles rounded the end of the table, passed by his fellow scribes, and pulled the chair out. Nerves kept his gaze down, but once he was seated he had no excuse. He lifted his eyes from the shining silverware to look at Derek.

He gasped – couldn't help it – and only the fact that he was seated kept him from falling over. Had he been standing, he was sure his legs would have faltered. All eyes at the table turned to him, conversation ceasing, but Stiles didn't notice.

It was the mailman! Wait, no. It was Derek Hale! No, wait. Derek Hale was the mailman! He wore no mail carrier hat today. His clothes were of the finest fabrics, sleek and shining, but without any fancy adornments. His hair was slicked back from his face and he had shaved… mostly. But that was the same strong jaw line, the same spring forest eyes.

"Are you unwell, Stiles?" Chris Argent asked, a concerned frown etched into his face. His father and sister's frowns seemed borderline upset, but Chris at least seemed genuine.

"I'm-" Stiles swallowed thickly and found himself sucked into those green eyes, unable to look away. He'd lost his chance at the perfect first impression. Derek had already seen him – dirty and soaking wet and being rude to the butler!

But Derek didn't seem upset at all about that. He raised an eyebrow at Stiles' flubbing words and a tiny, almost imperceptible, smirk pulled on the left side of his mouth. Hang on. Was that a challenge?

Stiles cleared his throat. "I'm fine," he said. He glanced at Allison and saw she had a very different look than her relatives. She understood his shock. She'd been there in the hall yesterday afternoon. "I hit my finger a little. Not a problem."

Gerard grunted as the kitchen doors swung open and the servants brought in the first course. "Terrible accident, your fingers," he said. "Doubly so because of your profession. Stiles here is the honorable scribe of my daughter." He directed this last bit to Derek, who hummed thoughtfully.

"You have lovely penmanship," Derek said.

"Thank you. So do you."

Derek grunted a thank you before the plates were set down, distracting everyone. Stiles kept his eyes on Derek, however, and the lord didn't miss it. Was it Stiles' imagination or was Lord Derek Hale blushing? He seemed to flush, at least, and he picked up the wrong utensil twice before finally settling on the spoon he needed.

Now Stiles smirked. If Derek had truly been challenging him before, then Stiles had won.

Kate, unable to stand awkward pleasantries between others, tried to strike up a conversation, but it was hard to direct her words at Derek with someone between them. She asked after Derek's parents and sisters, and Allison happily added that she would love to meet Derek's sisters. Derek, perfect Derek, ignored Kate's inquiries to thank Allison for her interest. His sister Laura, at the very least, would probably love to meet Allison. His sister Cora was rarely in the county, however, as she was working for the Duchess of Roden.

"I've met the duchess," Stiles supplied, knowing that Derek was already aware of this. Kate gave him an intense look across the table and Stiles swallowed his planned comment about the woman's prudish nature. Instead he said, "She became fond of the Argent household during her last visit through this county. Her personal guard came to deliver a letter stating so and thanking them for their help."

"For your help," Allison amended. Gerard cleared his throat in warning, but Allison ignored him. "Stiles helped the duchess when her carriage broke down. Very heroic. He brought us into her good graces that day, and deserves all the respect that comes with that."

Stiles didn't know which Allison was trying to do – make Stiles look good in front of Derek Hale or tell her grandfather how she truly felt about his actions while he could do nothing to retaliate. Either way, her praise made his ears burn. The other two scribes said nothing, but he noticed them glancing at him multiple times, and he wasn't sure if they were jealous of Allison's defense or astounded at Stiles' gall for acting like he was part of the family.

Gerard opened his mouth to comment, but Chris cleared his throat and caught everyone's attention. He looked as natural and calm as if there were no drama happening around him.

"I thought we could start your visit with a trip through our part of the county," he said. "It's too late to go today, of course. We'll head out first thing tomorrow. The county is too large to see everything in a day, but I'll show you what I can. Was there any part you had a particular interest in?"

Derek's back became straighter – talk of business reminding him why he was even in their home at all. After a brief period of thought, he nodded. "If we could manage a visit to your poorest neighborhood, I would be much obliged." Seeing Gerard's expression, he added, "I don't mean to insinuate that I expect the neighborhood to be in a bad condition. I simply want to see how the Argents handle the toughest problems of the county, so that I may see if I can implement any ideas in Beacon."

Chris nodded. "I think that's a fine idea, and definitely something we can work in. Now, that's enough business talk for tonight. I'm sure you're interested in more than our politics in Gévaudan."

"I am," Derek agreed, and the whole table launched into a discussion about the beauties of Gévaudan – the forests and wildlife, the talent of the people that lived there, and the many high class families in the area.

Kate mentioned that there were twenty-five families in the county able to afford the luxury of a scribe full-time, and dozens more that could hire one when need be. Her intention was to assert the wealth of the county and show off how well the people were doing, but Stiles thought she just sounded like an ignorant, privileged bitch. More than two dozen families should be able to hire a scribe when needed. She was only showing her lack of empathy for the poorer class.

"That reminds me," Allison said as the servants removed their dinner plates and prepped the table for dessert. "Lord Derek, is it true that your family is in need of a scribe?"

"Can't even employ a scribe?" Gerard grunted under his breath. He'd had two glasses of wine with his meal and seemed half-way drowsy, but it made him no less unpleasant.

The jibe bounced right off Derek. "No, my family employs two scribes full-time," Derek said. "Although it is true that when your aunt first wrote to me, I had recently lost mine. She had been my scribe for as long as I could remember, but her health was failing. We set her up in a fine living for her years of loyal service, and it took me some time to choose a replacement. But I've had a new scribe for about a month now. My father, of course, never lost his."

Nodding, Chris said, "Yes, Lord Hale's letter of request was penned by his scribe."

Whatever was said after that, Stiles didn't hear. Derek had a new scribe. But Stiles had read Derek's letter three times last night, and he didn't remember seeing the seal of a scribe anywhere on it. Did that mean, somehow, that Derek had chosen to write his own letters to Stiles? But if he had a scribe, why go through the trouble?

The conversation that followed covered Derek's melancholy over losing his trusted scribe, his family's annual trips to the coast, and his preference for watching other people dance rather than joining in himself, among other things. Despite the intimate questions asked, Derek's answers rarely stretched past polite. They were given the barest information – nothing like the long answers Derek wrote to Stiles in every letter.

Derek glanced at him several times during the meal, and Stiles always caught his eye. Had Derek truly come on business? Was he always this abrupt in person or would he open up to the Argents with time? Or, better still, was he only open with a select few people?

Stiles wanted the meal to be over so he could talk to Derek in private, but even after the food was gone, the nobles decided to move into the study to talk. When Stiles tried to follow, Kate sneered at him and shut the door in his face. Well, so much for a great first impression. Or second impression.

He'd just have to find Derek tomorrow and really have a conversation with Lord Mailman.


	10. Chapter 10

True to his word, Chris Argent had Derek Hale out the front door by the time the rest of the family woke up for breakfast. Stiles spent the day reading in the library, because no one would let him help with chores. His lie about hitting his finger at dinner had spread through the servants, and everyone was afraid he was straining himself.

No one saw the two lords again until supper, and Stiles was not about to bring up their secret letters in front others.

The next day was the same, with Lord Argent and Lord Hale escaping in the Argent carriage after an early breakfast. Lady Kate was beside herself with anger at the loss of Derek's company. She could be heard raving in her father's study, but Gerard never seemed to raise his voice so none of the gossiping servants could comment on what his standing on the argument was. Kate clearly wanted some alone time with Derek, a chance to speak to him without a family member sitting between them or her father's watchful gaze. She did not get her wish, so they all assumed Gerard's position on the matter was a hard and fast 'no.'

Stiles couldn't read all day again. He'd finished a whole novel the first day and was not in the mood to do it again. Instead, he stole Allison and they headed out to the yard to play badminton. At first she declined, but it only took about ten minutes of begging to get her to relent.

"Honestly, I'm more surprised by the choice in sport," Allison said, starting a volley. "I thought you hated badminton."

"You're not wrong," Stiles said, playing with his left hand and still managing to get the shuttlecock over the net. "But I have limited options, and people will do amazing things to avoid boredom."

"What would you rather do? I mean, if your hand was healed."

"Archery."

Allison missed her volley when she turned her surprised expression on him. "But I'd best you easily in archery," she said, confused.

Stiles shrugged. "Just because I lose doesn't mean it isn't more entertaining than badminton. At least with archery, I can pretend I'm shooting people I hate."

Like Gerard. Or Kate. Or the nobles in his home county who'd laughed at him after the accident that killed his father. Stiles hated a surprising number of people, but he'd also had a lot of time to stew over his anger and bring it to a proper boil. Archery helped some. Badminton, not so much.

Despite using the wrong hand, Stiles won the first set. Allison tied the score in the second, and then they had to play a third set just to find out who actually won. The answer was Allison, but Stiles wasn't going to tell everyone about it.

Two servants helped them pack up the game and take down the net and generally fawned over Allison for deigning to do a servant's job. Stiles was affronted, since he helped out all the time, but the servants just teased that, though he wasn't a servant, he wasn't exactly a Lady either, was he? Stiles, more affronted, said he could be a Lady if he wanted to be, but this just made everyone present laugh, including Stiles after a beat.

He didn't eat dinner with the family that night, because the doctor had come to check up on his fingers right as the dinner bell rang. Instead, he ate with the servants before retiring to bed. The good news was that his fingers were on the mend. Another week, the doctor said, and Stiles could begin therapy to regain the full mobility in his joints. It couldn't come fast enough.

Stiles was already in bed, the house dark and silent, when he realized he'd missed seeing Derek all day. It was almost as if he wasn't visiting at all. Or, rather, it was as if he were truly visiting only for business. But hadn't he said in his last letter than he wanted to meet Stiles too? Had that brief, monitored meeting at dinner been enough for him? Because it hadn't been nearly enough for Stiles.

* * *

The third morning of Derek's visit, Stiles woke, sore and grumpy. The doctor had probed and prodded his break the night before, so even with medication the pain was a bit higher than normal. He sucked down a glass of water and the pills for his pain before dressing and attempting to do something with his hair.

Derek wasn't around, sure, but what if he spotted Stiles in passing?

He opened his bedroom door and promptly stumbled in place. Derek Hale, speak of the devil, was standing outside his room, hand raised in preparation of knocking. A covered tray was balanced in his left hand. At Stiles' sudden appearance, he too seemed thrown.

"I," he began but paused, eyes drifting around the whole of Stiles' room. Suddenly, the bare walls and broken furniture were far more embarrassing, and Stiles quickly ushered Derek back several paces so he could shut the door and block everything from view.

Only with that embarrassment hidden did Stiles realize he'd just pushed a nobleman around like a commoner. He flushed and bowed, far more graceful than he felt.

"I apologize, Lord Hale." He stood up but kept his eyes down. "You- uh, wanted to see me?"

Derek didn't answer, and it made Stiles more nervous than any kind of terrible responses he'd been expecting. There was no yelling, no calling Stiles uncouth, no derisive snorting, no nothing. He didn't even turn and leave in silence. No, he just stood there, silently.

Eventually, Derek did speak, and there was a frown in his tone. "I did. Although, I admit, I thought you'd want to see me too, but your eyes seem glued to the floor." He let out a grumpy sort of sound. "Forgive the intrusion."

He turned on his heel and took a step back down the hall, but Stiles had reached out to grab his arm before he could make any headway. Stiles' eyes found Derek's forest eyes, and even his natural instincts seemed to short out. Kate had not been fibbing when she'd called Derek the most attractive man in Beacon.

The two men stood awkwardly, Derek trying not to drop his tray, for several seconds, before Stiles' brain started working again. "Sorry. You think I don't want to see you?" he asked, confused. "You're the one who's been gallivanting across Gévaudan for two days with barely a hello."

"I-" Derek grit his teeth. "I am officially here on business," he said, low and harsh, like he was afraid of being overheard. "What did you expect of me? To shirk my duties and run to your aid?"

"My aid?" Stiles asked back, mimicking the low and angry tone. He glanced around, not sure whom they were hiding from. Everyone, probably. "What aid did I ask for?"

Derek's fingers snapped around Stiles' wrist and held up his newly splinted fingers. "I knew something was wrong in your last letter," Derek said. He was angry, but Stiles didn't think it was aimed at him. "I can't believe Earl Gévaudan would- You're a _scribe_ , Stiles!"

Something about the way Derek was so angry for him, repeating the sentiments Stiles himself had thought, mixed with a deep, resonating reaction to hearing his name on Derek's tongue. It made Stiles' insides warm. Suddenly, Stiles wasn't upset anymore. He gently put his left hand on Derek's wrist, easing his grip until he released Stiles.

"I'll be okay," Stiles said, and it was softer and yet more sure than any other time he'd declared as much. "I'm stronger than he thinks I am."

The heat had gone out of Derek's expression, and he sighed. "I am sure you are, but you shouldn't have had to suffer like this. The contents of Lady Katherine's letters are no fault of yours, even if you are the one to transcribe her thoughts. If anyone should have been blamed, it is me. I led her on, giving her small hopes that I may return her affections one day, when I honestly can't stand the mention of her name, much less her presence."

This conversation would go nowhere. They'd talk in circles as Stiles tried to say everything was fine and Derek became more self-loathing about the situation. He could see them both becoming annoyed and tired of the repetition, but they'd be stuck until someone decided to leave. Seeing an early escape, Stiles cleared his throat and motioned to the tray.

"What do you have there?" he asked.

As though he'd forgotten he was carrying it, Derek stared at the tray in confusion. Then he remembered. It was surprisingly adorable, even on the face of someone so rugged and serious. "I thought I'd see if I could impose on your breakfast this morning. That is, I was hoping you'd join me for breakfast, somewhere away from prying eyes and gossiping ears. I brought the breakfast. You need only provide the location."

"Secrets and food. You know me so well," Stiles mused with a grin. "Follow me."

* * *

The Argents had an elaborate garden on the left side of their manor. Hedges rose up around the majority of the property to keep prying eyes out, but on this side of the yard, they were not alone. Trellises covered in flowers created a covered walk, bushes of fragrant buds dotted the yard, and a fountain erupted in beautiful extravagance. It was impossible to see the whole yard from any given angle because of the design of the many bushes and plant-made walls. If ever there was a place for privacy among the Argents, it was here, where the fountain covered most sound and the bushes blocked most eyes.

Sitting in a corner of the covered walkway, Stiles and Derek picked apart the breakfast Derek had stolen from the kitchens. Toast with jam, buttered rolls, sliced meats, a few pieces of bacon each, and even two hard boiled eggs. It was the best breakfast Stiles had had in years, and it was entirely because of his company.

Derek offered everything to Stiles first and offered to prep things for him, messed up while putting jam on his toast, and then realized he hadn't grabbed anything for them to drink. He was embarrassed and apologized for his lack of preparedness, and generally seemed to think the breakfast was a failure, but Stiles greatly disagreed.

"We don't need drinks," he assured. "If we're desperate, there's a fountain. Go dunk your head." He laughed at Derek's pinched, confused expression. "I'm kidding! Mostly."

He felt very relaxed and comfortable there, eating breakfast with a lord, a future Earl. Maybe it was because they were sitting on the ground, dirtying their pants. Maybe it was Derek getting flustered over tiny blunders. Maybe it was the fact that Derek had come to get him at all. Whatever it was, Stiles hadn't felt so relaxed in a long time.

"I admit, this isn't the first time I sought you out," Derek admitted when they were finished eating. He stacked everything back on the tray and replaced the cover. "I attempted to find you on my first day, but you were in the library. You seemed very deep in thought, so I left you to it." He dusted his hands off before setting them on his knees. "And I was a bit worried how you'd react to seeing me. I lied to you, after all."

Stiles clapped his hands together, startling Derek from his pensive monologue. "Right! You came to the house dressed as a mailman! That's ludicrous! Why would you do that? You couldn't just wait a day and meet us all properly?"

The embarrassed flush was back on Derek's cheeks. "I wanted to see the house when it wasn't primed for a visit. What were the people like when not on their best behavior? People put on strong masks when they believe their reputations are at stake, but I told you once I like to judge people based on their treatment of their lesser as much as their superior."

"Well I suppose Reddick failed miserably then," Stiles teased, imagining for the first time what Reddick's face looked like when he realized the man he'd shouted at was a lord. Then he choked on his joy. "O-Oh yeah. You, uh, you met me that day too. I was rather rude to Reddick. I bet that didn't look too good either."

Derek grinned and it looked shockingly fierce. "On the contrary. You appeared in the defense of someone you believed defenseless, and you handled yourself with controlled grace in the face of ridicule. A servant, without being summoned, brought you a towel, and one of the ladies of the house showed intense support of you and your wellbeing. You passed inspection with top marks."

Now Stiles was the one with a hot face. He bit his lip temporarily before managing, "Well the verdict is still out on you, my lord." He cleared his throat and reached over to pull some grass out of the ground, just to busy his nervous fingers. "I mean to say, this breakfast is definitely in your favor, but it is still a shock to know you technically met me before I met you."

His fidgeting halted when Derek's hand covered his on the ground. "Derek," he said. A little grin tugged on his lips, a sweet but fierce smile peeking through. "You have called me Derek in your letters for long enough. You may address me as such in person."

Stiles looked up from their hands and found they had leaned toward each other. Derek was here, in person, and so close. Stiles' silly crush on penmanship was hard to ignore when the writer turned out to be as attractive as this. Plus, Derek seemed as kind and attentive in person as he was in his letters, though he always claimed he wasn't as good as he portrayed himself to be. What a lie.

"Derek," Stiles said, accepting the change.

God, if he just leaned a little more, he could plant a kiss right on the lord's lips. But that was the problem, wasn't it? Derek was a lord, a future Earl. Stiles was no one of rank or title. Not anymore. Even if, somehow, Derek had developed feelings for him as well during their correspondence, there was no chance at a lasting relationship. Derek would need to pass on his title, pass on his name – Derek would need a wife and a child. Derek needed someone more than Stiles – even if Stiles addressed his letters so informally as to 'Derek'. 'Dear Derek'.

"Derek," he said again without noticing. They had both been leaning slowly toward each other while Stiles' brain hashed out why they couldn't be together. No matter how logical his brain was, his body ached to be closer.

Derek's warm hand found his cheek when their faces were scant inches apart, and Stiles was sure they were about to kiss. He wanted to be kissed, more than he'd wanted almost anything before. He wanted it now, from Derek, more than from any dream of Mason Hewitt or anyone from back home. He wanted his first kiss to be Lord Derek Hale.

But Derek stilled their progress at the same time that he caressed the back of Stiles' hand. He looked down into Stiles' eyes, and Stiles saw a similar desire in him, so what kept him from just kissing Stiles? Derek's lips parted, he took a deep breath, his face got imperceptibly closer, and then he pulled away. His hand left Stiles' face cold, and his other hand abandoned Stiles' on the ground. It left Stiles feeling winded, and he actually shivered in the breeze.

But why?

"I'd like to call you by your first name," Derek said, clearing his throat. "But I don't know it. So for now, allow me to call you Stiles." He stood then, gathering up their tray, and let out a low breath. "I enjoyed our breakfast. Thank you for obliging me. Unfortunately, I believe Lord Argent is expecting me soon." He bowed to Stiles – to a scribe, hardly better than a servant. "Pardon me."

Then he was gone, leaving Stiles on the ground.

They'd been having a moment. Well, hadn't they? There'd been an energy between them. They'd been about to kiss. Well, hadn't they?! It hadn't all been in Stiles' mind, made up by his nights of dreaming of a Derek he barely knew. It hadn't all been his own lust projected into the eyes of the older gentleman. Well, had it?

The joy of breakfast was clouded now by the uncertainty of the final interaction. Had Stiles been presumptive? Had he been the only one leaning in? Would Derek now avoid him, as he was avoiding Kate? Two unwanted advances from the same household.

Stiles pressed the heel of his hand into one eye and took a deep breath. No tears today. He was raised better than that.

But he still didn't understand what had happened. And, if he'd truly caused an offense, how was he to come back from this? Had he just lost something on accident?


	11. Chapter 11

Allison was mid-study when Stiles found her. She did not stop studying as he talked, but he continued anyway. He told her about the morning's events and didn't skip over the part where he almost kissed the next Earl of Beacon. It was only at that point in the ranted story that her pen slowed at all, and it was only when Stiles detailed the sudden departure that she even looked up.

"Wait. Lord Hale almost… kissed you?" she asked.

"Were you not listening to me, Allison? I am offended. Truly I am. That you would give more attention to your studies than to my ails and woes – it offends me." Stiles put his hand on his chest and let out the fakest sob he could muster.

Allison laughed. "Alright. Alright. I'm closing my book. But be serious, Stiles. I knew you and Lord Hale were close from your correspondence, but you mean to tell me you two developed some secret love affair? You didn't tell me that."

"We never started a love affair," Stiles protested, lowering his voice. "We never expressed fondness for each other… well, except as a relief for finally having someone worth writing to. I certainly admired his stories and personality, and your aunt couldn't keep her mouth shut about how attractive he was – as in, she would regularly detail his attributes. So yeah, maybe I like him. There's nothing against that. I'm allowed to like men who are completely unavailable to me. It's called a fantasy for a reason."

"Except you just said he almost kissed you. That doesn't sound like a man who's unavailable to you," Allison pointed out. She was grinning with mischievous glee. This was probably the only gossip she'd heard in months that she actually cared about.

"Right, but I also said I must have imagined it. Remember? He didn't kiss me. He left. He said he 'enjoyed' breakfast, and left me in the gardens. Besides that, he's going to be an Earl, Allison. He can't have feelings for a scribe!" Stiles threw his arms out to the side and then motioned to himself wildly, even after he'd finished speaking.

Allison looked unimpressed. "Why can you like someone you think is unobtainable but he can't? Haven't you read any novels lately? A prince falling in love with a common scullery maid. A lord marrying an inventor's daughter. A princess choosing a charming street rat. The theme is everywhere. So why is Lord Derek Hale, soon-to-be sixth Earl of Beacon, finding himself attracted to Stiles, the scribe, so outlandish to you?"

Slumping into the chair beside his friend, Stiles groaned. "This isn't a novel, Allison. We can't just bend rules in real life. Even if he liked me back, he couldn't-"

He sat up straighter as a thought occurred to him. If Derek liked Stiles, he couldn't do anything about it. They couldn't court, because Stiles wasn't eligible. But, like Allison said, that didn't mean Derek didn't like Stiles. It just meant that he couldn't act on those feelings. For instance, he couldn't go around kissing scribes over breakfast just because he wanted to.

Perhaps he'd been thinking all the same things as Stiles, not just about wanting to kiss but about why they shouldn't. Maybe he stopped himself because he'd also realized there was no future for them.

Beside him, Allison grinned like a kitten. "I support your secret romance," she whispered conspiratorially.

"Good to know," Stiles said, standing again. "I need to go investigate something."

"Good luck," she said as she waved him off. Sometimes he loved her more than he normally did.

* * *

Lord Hale was in the hall with Lord Argent when Stiles found them. No, he didn't walk up to them. He back stepped out of sight and listened to them discussing the portraits on the walls. Derek was explaining the halls of his home in Beacon, where the last five Earls were honored in ink and oil with grand portraits that hung in the gallery, along with smaller family portraits. Unlike how his father would have reacted, Lord Argent didn't seem to take this as an offense. He merely continued the conversation about who was featured in the Argent paintings.

Back pressed to the wall, Stiles tried to think up a way to casually have Derek overhear him talking without rudely interrupting the gentlemen. Only now did he realize he'd had no plan in mind when leaving Allison. As usual, he'd gone into something without thinking.

Suddenly, a door down the hall opened and a servant stepped from the kitchens. It was not a cook or a server. It was Jared. Stiles felt the wickedest grin cover his face, and he called out to the stable hand, who jumped in shock.

"Oh, Stiles! You frightened me," Jared said with intense relief. "I thought you might have been Earrrllllll-y. Early for lunch. Ahem. I thought you were someone else." He nervously cast his eyes about, making sure none of the Argents had overheard him.

Lord Argent probably had, but he made no notion of it. The lords spoke more quietly than before, almost as if they would be the ones interrupting if they continued their conversation as normal. Or perhaps Stiles was being dramatic. He was in the whims of his scheming and couldn't be bothered with rational thought.

"No worries, Jared," Stiles assured, coming close enough to clap the young man on the shoulder. He was in full view and earshot of the gentlemen. Perfect. "I was hoping to go riding today. Perhaps just after lunch. Do you think you could prepare a horse for me? You know I'd normally help, but-"

Jared shook his head quickly. "No-no! Don't worry about a thing, Stiles. Of course! I'd be happy to prep one of the stallions for you after lunch. No one else is riding today, so you should have no problem. None at all."

Some servants liked Stiles, but for some reason Jared _really_ liked Stiles. It was borderline awe and worship at times, and Stiles could not account for its formation. Certainly he'd only ever been normally kind or teasingly mean to any of the servants, including Jared. Still, somehow, Jared would do almost anything Stiles asked of him. Of course, Stiles didn't abuse that power, but the relationship did have its perks, like knowing Jared would loudly assure Stiles of his utmost support.

"Good man, Jared," he said, patting the young man again on the shoulder. The conversation at the other end of the hall had lulled. They must have heard everything. Everything was going to plan. You know, now that he had one.

* * *

Waiting to enact a plan made time pass even slower than boredom did. Stiles wasn't even hungry for lunch, but he begged the clock to bring the food faster. When, finally, the lunch bell _did_ ring, Stiles ate quickly with the servants and other scribes – he only ate dinner with the family, and maybe breakfast if they left a spot for him at the table. Then he hurried to his room and pulled on his riding slacks and boots, with only a mild bit of added difficulty from his splinted fingers. The Argents may not supply him with much, but they had at least allowed him to buy a good set of riding gear.

When he arrived at the stables, Jared was there with a beautiful brown thoroughbred, just finishing up the straps of the saddle. He frowned when he saw Stiles, which did give the scribe pause, but not for long.

"I'm sorry, Stiles," Jared said. "I said no one else planned to ride, but just before lunch was called, Lord Hale requested to borrow a steed so he could check out the countryside."

Shaking his head, Stiles said, "Don't worry. The countryside is more than enough space for two people. We probably won't even run into each other."

With the help of a stool, Stiles lifted himself into the saddle without harming his fingers. He told Jared to make mention to Lord Hale that Stiles would be riding near the river, in case Lord Hale wanted solitude as much as Stiles did. Then, with Jared's assurance that he would do so, Stiles led his horse in an easy trot down the yard and into the fields and forest beyond.

On a normal day, Stiles really would want to be alone on his ride. He'd want to admire the river water and hear the huffing breaths of his horse without interruption by other people. However, that was only because the people who would be interrupting would be Argents. The prospect that Derek Hale was truly taking the bait and coming to ride with Stiles – it made his body thrum with nervous energy.

If Derek showed up, it meant Derek felt at least similarly to Stiles. Did it not?

He rode slowly along the river's edge, careful not to get too close. Some of the horses liked to sit down in water, and he could never remember which ones. Today was not the day for a dunk in the river.

Twenty minutes later, he turned his horse back toward the house. He didn't want to ride too far, or Derek wouldn't be able to find him. Not that he needed to worry. He'd barely begun his walk back when he saw the arrival of another rider. Derek, to be specific. Obviously.

When they came close enough, Derek cleared his throat. "The stable boy told me you'd be this way," he said. "I wondered if you might give me a tour of your woods."

Stiles' chest swelled with hope. Derek had come because of Stiles. Whatever his supposed excuse, he'd come for Stiles.

With a light smirk, Stiles walked his horse in a tight circle, coming up beside Derek and once again facing away from home. "These are not my woods," he said. "These are Argent woods."

"Are they, though?" Derek asked, no doubt remembering Stiles' letters that recounted his many walks and rides through the trails. "Perhaps you do not own them, but they are no less yours."

"Poetic," Stiles said with a hum. "Follow me, then."

They rode slowly, and Stiles told stories about the things they passed – animal burrows, natural bridges, and the like. Derek listened attentively at first, as though he might be quizzed later, but eventually he began responding with stories of his own, about the woods near his home.

The pace and atmosphere were relaxing. The conversation was lively and had them both laughing often – like when Stiles told Derek about the woods he grew up in and how he'd nearly set them on fire as a child by running through them with a flaming log he'd grabbed from a newly lit bonfire. He'd been a child. The reason for his shenanigans weren't important. Derek, in turn, had Stiles in stitches over a story involving his sister Cora chasing a mountain lion that had stolen one of their livestock. She'd been so devious about her hunt that the mountain lion became frightened of her and tripped over itself trying to escape her. In the end, it had returned the dead livestock, half-eaten, and continued to bring half-eaten trophies to the edge of their property for a week, as though paying tribute to Cora. She never let them forget that.

An hour into their ride, Stiles slowed his horse to a stop beside an old stump he'd found during his first ride ever, back when he'd frequently run from the Argent manor after a beating and hid like a child. He'd cried on this stump. The story almost came out of his mouth, but he closed his teeth around it.

Instead, he turned from the stump and faced Derek. The lord was waiting patiently, expecting their stop to mean a story was about to start. He was so earnest and attentive. It made Stiles' chest ache.

"Do you like me?" Stiles asked.

Confusion knit Derek's face into one of his normal serious expressions. "Of course. You know I dislike riding with people, yet here I am."

"No," Stiles said, but then shook his head and decided to let Derek's answer satisfy him for now. "I mean, yes. I knew that. And this has been the most satisfying ride I've been on in years. So, even though I was the one acting as a tour guide, thank you for your company."

"Anytime," Derek said, and his little smile took place on his face again.

It was like a secret smile, like he wasn't used to showing this part of himself, and Stiles had spotted it three times since Derek's arrival. Once at the first dinner, once at breakfast, and now. Stiles was fond of that secret smile already, which probably wasn't in his best interest, but Stiles did a lot of things that weren't in his best interest. Enjoying a smile was the least concerning of his daring choices.

They rode back to the house in a similar fashion to the ride out. Conversation filled the air. Derek's miraculous knowledge of where Stiles slept was revealed to be the work of Caitlyn, the maid whom always had mint on hand for Stiles. She may start a rumor, but then she may not. Stiles found he didn't mind if the servants knew, but he'd probably make time to see Caitlyn just to make sure it didn't get to the other scribes or the Argents.

The ride's conversation easily turned to their letters, about questions they'd had but didn't know how to write or that they'd only thought up later. Stiles asked about Derek's scribe situation.

"I'm surprised you left yourself without a scribe for so long. Writing all those letters to Kate in person when you claim to dislike her so much – it must have been a pain," Stiles said, definitely not trying to suggest anything. Most certainly not trying to lead Derek into an answer about liking to write to Stiles in person, as himself and not through someone else.

Nodding, Derek hummed in agreement. "There were many changes occurring at the Hale House around the time when Kate began her letters, one of which was my scribe retiring. Picking a new scribe was far from my mind. Besides which, I somehow felt I would be betraying my old scribe by replacing her. I know that sounds stupid, but that was my mindset." He shrugged and turned his gaze into the trees. "Some letters are frustrating to write yourself, but others are quiet enjoyable. I was more than fine writing my own mail for a few months."

Close enough. Kind of. Actually, Stiles wasn't sure if that satisfied his hopes at all. But that's the answer he got, so he didn't have much choice.

"Yeah. It feels nice to have someone write it for you, put that stamp on the corner, but I believe writing your own letters makes them more personal. Somehow more intimate." Stiles was sure this was what Derek felt as well, that they had one more thing in common. "I never felt connected to people when using a scribe."

"You've used a scribe?" Derek asked. "Does Earl Gévaudan let you borrow his?" The question was coated in disbelief and surprise. Stiles understood why.

"No! What? No. Absolutely not," Stiles answered rapidly. "Earl Gévaudan lets no one else use his scribe. That's why Lady Katherine and Lord Argent use their own. But no to them as well. I meant… before. Before I worked here."

Derek nodded. "You've worked for Lady Katherine for four years. So what was your profession before you were a scribe?"

While Stiles loved that Derek remembered a tiny detail like how long Stiles had been employed, he did not so much love the topic of choice. He cleared his throat. "Ah, we're almost to the manor. That ruins my entire good mood. Now we must return to you being a good, upstanding businessman and me, a bored and despondent scribe. At least until these fingers heal. Which the doctor says should be next week, by the way. Then I'll be useful in all manner of things – not just looking good in a saddle."

He winked at Derek and flustered the lord all over again. He loved making the older man blush.

The manor would come into view in a few moments, so Stiles and Derek could no longer ride together. Instead, Stiles hung back and told Derek to go on ahead. It wasn't unusual for Stiles to waste time on a ride, so no one would be expecting him to return quickly. Derek, on the other hand, would make everyone nervous if he stayed out too long.

Derek placed his hand on Stiles' shoulder and set an intense look on him for a bit too long to be comfortable. Then he urged his horse onward and disappeared into the trees. Stiles stayed in place, equally from necessity as from paralysis. Would he never get used to those eyes? Their strength and concentration. Their fiery intensity. He felt like he'd seen another pair of eyes as powerful as Derek's, someone else with the Hale spark, but in that moment he could only think of Lord Derek Hale.

There was an ache growing in Stiles, starting in his chest and slowly spreading, gnawing at him more and more every time he and Lord Hale saw one another. He wondered how long it would take for this ache to drive him mad – well, madder than he already was, because only a madman would consider what Stiles was thinking.

And what was he thinking? He was thinking Allison had the right idea. If Derek was up for it, Stiles wouldn't say no to a good old dose of romantic espionage.


	12. Chapter 12

The study was dark, the lamp barely lit. Stiles didn't want to draw too much attention to the fact that he was awake so late at night and so far from his room. He only lit the lamps on the far side of the room, and even then he kept them turned low, about half their normal brightness. The lighting made the study seem larger, more imposing, but somehow calmer. Sitting in his scribe's chair at his scribe's desk, Stiles tapped his fingers and tried not to dose off.

It was easy to dose off though. He simply laid his head in his folded arms and stared at the compartment on the desk that held his inks. Then, slowly, his eyelids drooped and fell shut. Simple.

Sleeping was not part of the plan, of course. No, the plan involved Allison, several hours earlier, sidling up to Derek Hale on his return from business with her father. The two men had been holed up inside Lord Argent's office for most of the day, even taking lunch in there, and had only emerged for the thought of dinner.

That was when Allison struck. Before her aunt or anyone of importance could hear, Allison found her way to Derek's side, and they exchanged a warm greeting. Allison asked what Derek's favorite thing to do after dark was, to which he said reading.

"Ah, good choice," she said. "Personally, I'm not a fan of reading in the dark. However, I find our study very alluring after nightfall. It's the farthest room from the living quarters, so you have peace and privacy. Yes, I find the best writing happens in there… at night… if you understand my meaning?"

If the plan worked, Derek would say yes he did, and then all Stiles had to do was wait on him. Dinner gave Stiles no clues at all to whether the invitation to meet had succeeded. Derek glanced at him only a few times, and his eyes did not linger. Most of his attention was on Earl Gévaudan and, to a large extent, Lady Allison. He struck up a long conversation about her plans for her future as far as schooling. It only got longer when Earl Gévaudan added his two cents that she should be focusing on marriage, not academics, though he loved that she was so smart, of course. Lady Kate was bored silly of the conversation almost before it started and tried several times to divert it away from thoughts of her niece and onto herself or Derek, but no one aided her attempts, so they fell flat. She fumed noticeably but did not lash out in front of company.

So when everyone retired for the evening, Stiles had no idea if his plan would even work. He'd seen very little of Derek after their ride the day before, and nothing at all of him besides dinner today. It was hard to read someone when you barely saw them. Stiles went to the study as soon as he deemed it safe. After over two hours with no company, of course, he'd nodded off.

The sound of the door shutting in the study did not wake him. Someone placing a hand on his shoulder only made him grunt as he fought to stay asleep. But then a low voice called his name and his heart gave a hopeful start, finally stirring his consciousness.

"Stiles?" Derek called, leaning in slightly.

The scribe jumped awake, sitting stiffly upright and finding Derek with wide, startled eyes. After the initial shock wore off, Stiles groaned and stretched his back, which was sore from his napping position. When he settled again, he found Derek watching him with those intense eyes, even more intense in the half dark of the room.

"Sorry," Derek said. "I believe I've kept you waiting. But, in my defense, I wasn't sure if you'd really be here."

"I was starting to think you wouldn't show up," Stiles admitted. That made Derek frown and turn his face away. "I'm glad you did."

The gentleman grunted and set down the candle he'd been using to find his way through the house. "It's frustrating that I can't speak with you openly in front of the Argents. Of course speaking to a scribe is not unusual, but the things I want to discuss would give away your letters, and I don't want to bring you any trouble."

The things Stiles wanted to talk about would get him in trouble even if the letters did not exist.

"I'll meet you away from the others if you want to discuss something," Stiles offered, a slight stress on the word 'discuss'. He stood up, forcing Derek back a step, but they were still so close together. "Give me a sign, and I'll meet you anywhere."

He meant it, too. He was tired of wishing he could say certain things and do certain things. He was tired of feeling trapped in his life instead of living it. He wanted Derek Hale, at least some part of him, and he didn't want to hide that anymore.

"I'm nine years older than you," Derek murmured, and his lack of retreat told Stiles all he needed to know about whether or not Derek had an interest in this affair.

"What's your point?" Stiles asked. His hand reached up for Derek's jaw, to feel the stubble there, but he hesitated. What did age have to do with genuine attraction? People married people twice their age for money all the time, so why should Stiles care about a measly nine years when feelings were involved?

"You-" Derek turned his face away and took half a step back, but Stiles grabbed his bicep to stop his retreat. "You couldn't believe Kate's gall in wooing me a decade ago because there was an age gap of eight years. I would be more inexcusable, then, to want your attentions."

Stiles blanched. He'd never considered such a thing – that he'd written such terrible things about Kate's actions and yet was encouraging a similar idea now. But they were nothing alike! Kate was manipulative and cared nothing for Derek as a person. Derek cared, at least. Didn't he?

"I've recalled those facts several times in the last month, even more so this last week," Derek admitted.

"Don't be an idiot," Stiles admonished. "You didn't have any interest in Katherine Argent, not ten years ago when she foiled your life and not now when she sought you out for some marriage plot."

The older man's eyes were hard, his mouth set in a thin line, and he breathed very deeply. "And you?" he asked. "Are you saying you have an interest?"

Stiles didn't hesitate this time. His fingers slid up and over Derek's newborn stubble. He had not shaved that morning. It was coarse and scratchy, but Stiles caressed all the way up to Derek's ear and into his hair.

"I have an inhumanly positive interest," he said, watching the lord's eyes slide shut at the sensation of Stiles' hand.

It was intoxicating, knowing his simple touch, the feeling of his fingers in Derek's hair, could make Derek look so passionate. His forehead was creased, trapped in some expression between pain and bliss. Unlike Stiles, it would seem Derek had not talked himself out of caring about propriety.

"Let me have just one piece of you," Stiles said, placating. "Then you can decide how much more you're willing to give. I understand if you can't, or won't, give me more. I'm well aware of my position in life, and of yours. I'm not delusional. I just decided I didn't care. Not if you don't."

Would Derek not even give him this one moment? He'd come out at night to meet Stiles in private. He'd risked scandal already. Would he stop now? Stiles didn't want him to stop. Stiles wanted to sneak around the Argents like a child stealing candy from the kitchens. Derek was the first thing he'd wanted since moving in with the Argents that he actually had the power to grab hold of. Derek was the first desire Stiles wanted to let himself have.

But what if Derek said no?

Stiles hadn't really considered that far. In his mind, Derek showing up at all was a seal of approval, but now… Now he wasn't so sure.

What if Derek said no?

"I am not sure what pieces of me there are left to give," Derek murmured, his hand finding Stiles' in his hair and pulling it away. Stiles' heart sank, and he was sure it was reflected on his face. But Derek wasn't looking at him. His eyes were closed as he brought Stiles' hand to his lips and held it there. "But you've already half stolen part of me, so I suppose I can let you have this."

He kissed Stiles' palm and sent sparks tingling down his veins. Then he kissed the palm once more before pressing his lips to Stiles' wrist. Stiles swallowed thickly and let out a heave of a breath.

"Derek," he said, but it was more of a gasp.

Then Derek's lips were on his, and it was so sweet and yet strong that Stiles' toes curled, and he stretched up taller to press himself further into the feeling. He hadn't been wrong! Derek did have affections for him in return. Now that he knew the truth, Stiles didn't know if just this moment would ever be enough, despite what he'd said. How could he just let Derek pass him by if they felt so similarly about each other?

Derek broke the kiss, holding Stiles' eager lips away with a hand to the younger's chest. "I've been imagining that since you walked in, dirty and wet, to defend me from the butler."

Stiles groaned in embarrassment, but he still tried to lean forward for another kiss. Derek didn't let him. "I know," he whined. "I looked like a mess when you first saw me. Don't remind me."

They didn't kiss again, but Derek did lean in to press their foreheads together. "I thought you looked irresistible." His gentle actions did not match the timber with which he said those words, and Stiles groaned again.

"Damn it, Derek," he said. "You run the very real risk of killing me if you don't kiss me again right now."

He didn't have to ask twice, and that was exhilarating. Derek kissed him again, several times, breath hot where it escaped along Stiles' cheek. Stiles didn't know what to do with his injured hand. Derek still held his free hand, but the broken one couldn't decide between Derek's shoulder and his face. It was probably awkward and definitely not proper, but Derek didn't seem to mind.

After several moments, Derek broke away again. He took a deep breath and held it, the picture of reining in self-control. Stiles loved the look of him. Then he placed his hand on Stiles' shoulder and took a step back.

"We shouldn't get carried away," he murmured, not looking at Stiles. "The Argents are not simpletons. They'll suspect."

"Derek Hale," Stiles began, new hope pouring through him. "Are you saying-"

"I told you, Stiles. You've already stolen a piece of me. I can't take it back," Derek said, returning his gaze to Stiles. He swallowed thickly. "I apologize. I cannot be with you in front of Lady Katherine or her father or- Or anyone. If I trusted any of them with you, maybe-"

His eyes were on Stiles' injured fingers then, and his jaw clenched. Stiles could almost hear his thoughts – about wanting to get Stiles away from such a household. They sounded exactly like-

"Allison," Stiles interrupted. "I trust Allison."

The rest of the household might snitch on them to Gerard, out of loyalty or fear. The other Argents may be conniving, power-hungry nobles. But Allison was on his side, on _their_ side. He would stake his life on it.

"I have an idea."

* * *

Allison was brilliant. She was so good at her studies and her rule following that no one doubted her intentions most of… ever. So it was only too easy for her to suggest at breakfast that Derek should see their hometown from a citizen point of view instead of a business one.

"He's been out twice with you, father, but only as a nobleman. You know how useful it can be to see how people are when they aren't being overshadowed by a man with a title. Let me give Lord Hale a tour of the town today, and he will be that much more informed when you steal him again tomorrow," she said.

Both Lord Argents seemed swayed, but neither gave in right away. Her grandfather smirked at her father, clearly proud of something she'd said or done. Lord Argent hmm'd and cleared his throat as he considered the idea, stalling. Lady Katherine would undoubtedly have argued against it, but she was not at breakfast. A woman had come to the door just before the bell rang and requested a private audience with Lady Katherine Argent. So they were pleasantly spared her insistence against Allison's idea.

"Come now, father. You'll have him for another three weeks yet. I only want to borrow him for a day." She smiled at him, the picture of helpful innocence.

Lord Argent smiled back, his love for his daughter clear on his face. Stiles, finally at a breakfast with Derek, watched the exchange with a sort of jealousy. Lord Argent never looked at Stiles with a tenth as much admiration as that. But on the other hand, he couldn't hate a man who loved Allison so much. It made Lord Argent admirable by association. He was a good father.

But as Lord Argent opened his mouth, clearly about to agree, his father began speaking for him.

"I think it's a splendid idea," Earl Gévaudan said, glee in his face and tone. "What better company could Lord Hale ask for? Our Allison is just the picture perfect choice, wouldn't you say, Christopher? And you, Lord Hale? You can have no objections to the idea, I'm sure!"

Lord Argent seemed less than pleased now. That was interesting. Sure he'd never appreciated being interrupted before, but Stiles had never seen his mood sour so quickly at his father's voice.

"I would welcome your granddaughter's insight," Derek answered diplomatically. "But only with her father's permission."

"You have it, of course," Lord Argent agreed, though he seemed less than excited. "But choose a servant to accompany you. It's not appropriate for you to be alone together."

"Now listen, son-" Earl Gévaudan tried to argue, but Lord Argent held up his hand to silence him, his eyes on his daughter. The old man spluttered and grumbled indignantly before reaching angrily for his wine glass.

"Especially in the carriage," he continued. "But I'm sure I already know who you'll choose."

Allison glanced over at Stiles, but she was careful not to glance toward Derek immediately after. Her smile was beaming. "And you approve?"

"Approve?" the man asked, his smile returning. "This is me encouraging you."

If there had not been a table between them, Allison would surely have leapt up and hugged her father. As there was a table, however, she simply smiled and bowed her head to him in gratitude. Earl Gévaudan coughed after a long drink from his wine glass and frowned around the table.

"Who are we talking about, then?" he asked.

No one answered him.

* * *

The carriage ride began in silence. Allison sat opposite Derek, and Stiles sat beside her. As they rocked down the driveway, no one spoke. The drive never seemed so long. Stiles cast several glances at Derek, and Derek almost smiled a few times, as though they were playing some sort of game.

As soon as the carriage turned onto the main road, Allison let out a heavy breath. "Alright. No need to play coy with me now. Or with each other. Go on, Stiles." She waved him away from her impatiently, half pushing him to the other side of the carriage.

As soon as his butt hit the seat, he felt his hand scooped up by Derek. The lord, it seemed, was fed up with his pretenses. He held firm to Stiles' hand, his thumb caressing slowly. Electricity started building in Stiles' chest, but he did his best to hold it at bay.

"Thank you for your assistance, Miss Argent," Derek said and bowed his head. "I know it can't be easy to lie to your family."

"On the contrary, I'm quite fond of doing it," Allison assured with a grin. "And please, at least in private, call me Allison. We should consider each other friends now, seeing as we're conspiring together."

Derek hummed and nodded, but Stiles had the suspicion that it wouldn't be as easy for him to call her by her first name as it was for him to drop all honorifics with Stiles. Derek's free hand reached over to rest on Stiles' knee, which Stiles only just realized he'd been bouncing. At Derek's touch, he stilled, embarrassed, but Derek didn't seem to really mind.

"Speaking of conspiring," Derek began, his attention back on Allison, "Perhaps you can help me in another venture. I've been at your home for barely a week, and… I feel as if I'm staring through a window at a terrible scene, unable to see the full picture and unable to fix the parts I can see." He glanced at Stiles' hand in his, where Stiles' fingers were still bandaged. "This is not your first broken bone in the Argent household."

It wasn't a question. Stiles wished it had been. He hated that Derek took one look at him and saw him as injured, as someone who needed saving. Turning his face to the window, his pulled his hand free from Derek's grasp and covered it with his own in his lap.

"My fingers are going to be fine," he grunted, avoiding the statement entirely.

"Stiles-" Derek pressed.

Allison interrupted. "If you're asking for my help, you have it. I've wanted a way to free Stiles from my aunt almost from the moment she got her claws into him. However, I don't have the resources necessary to pull off such a venture." She leaned forward, gripping her hands tight in front of her. "But you can help me fix that."

"What do you need me to do?" Derek asked, just as focused and serious.

"You have lawyers in your family. Write to them. My aunt says Stiles is indebted to her because of business between her and his father. When Mr. Sti-" She glanced at Stiles, who shot her a warning glare, and cleared her throat. "When his father died, my aunt says it cost her a lot of money. If we can find the documentation, find out how much he owes her-"

"Consider it done," Derek said, nodding with his serious eyebrows and his serious jaw line and his serious mental lapse. "However, I _will_ need to know his father's name to –"

"Hold up." Stiles put his hands up and shook his head. "No one is going to _buy_ me out of debt. Then I'm just in debt to someone new."

Allison looked unimpressed. She gently smacked his hands back down. "And you mean to say you wouldn't rather be indebted to Lord Hale than to my aunt? You'd rather stay at the Argent Estate and break another rib?"

Derek's eyebrows shot up in concern before drawing low in confusion. Stiles waved the idea away. "I'm not saying that at all. I'm just saying I don't want your money." He put a hand on Derek's shoulder. "I don't need your money. Do you understand?"

The frown on Derek's face grew worse, but he nodded. "I do understand." Stiles sighed in relief. "But if getting you to safety is a simple question of funds, I hope _you_ understand that I can't sit by and do nothing."

Stiles sighed again, this time in defeat. He couldn't argue this point, because he knew that if their situations were reversed, he'd do the same thing. So he nodded and dropped his hand from Derek's shoulder. "I understand," he agreed.

Derek caught his hand on the way down and held it between both of his own. "I know what you're thinking. You don't want to be held down by the burden of money, and you don't want to _be_ a burden either. My situation is far from yours, but I've felt those things too. I once considered running away from my family, to escape the political nonsense that comes from being titled. But I chose to stay, because I love my family and they needed me. You don't stay with the Argents because of love. You stay because of debt. I'm not saying you can't survive your circumstances on your own, but- You have a good friend here," he motioned to Allison, "and you have me now. You don't have to go on surviving alone. Let us help you."

Wow, what a speech. Stiles fought the smile, but it was a losing battle. Before he could full-on grin, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to Derek's. Allison let out a tiny gasp, but Stiles ignored her surprise. He'd already told her about kissing Derek last night. She was probably just stunned to see it in person.

Derek brought his hand to Stiles' cheek as he pressed back into the kiss, and a second kiss to boot. Then he pulled back slightly and let his eyes roam over Stiles' face while he caressed the edge of Stiles' hair, letting the short locks weave in and over his fingertips.

"I'll take that as admittance."

"You can take whatever you want," Stiles murmured back, fully intending his words to be sensual.

Derek smirked. "Maybe not here, I think," he said lowly back, and his eyes glanced sideways at Allison. Then he pulled back entirely and returned to simply holding Stiles' hand.

Pursing his lips, Stiles sat back up straight and dared to look at his best friend. She seemed slightly flustered, but not upset. Her hand was over her mouth, her eyes slightly wide and considering. For a moment, Stiles worried he'd been too inappropriate by kissing in her presence and making lewd comments, but his worries didn't last long. Allison caught his eye and smiled behind her fingers.

"It's just so romantic, isn't it?" she asked. Stiles cracked a grin in response. He definitely thought this was romantic, but as he was part of the romantic scene Allison was commenting on, he thought it might be a bit too arrogant to agree out loud.

Derek's thumb resumed its work caressing Stiles' skin on the back of his hand, and that occupied all of Stiles' thoughts for the remainder of the short ride into town. He could get used to this.


	13. Chapter 13

The schedule was thus: Derek ate with the Argents for breakfast, half the time including Stiles and the other scribes; then one of the Mr. Argents stole him away to a study for the whole of the morning to learn about business and economics; lunch did not include Stiles, but Derek often asked to eat alone so he could find Stiles in the garden – Sir Argent disapproved and Lady Katherine was anxious to eat alone with him, but Derek's brooding eyebrows and general reluctance to talk made it easy for him to claim he needed the time to himself. Kate still tried to follow him a few times, but Caitlyn would enlist other servants to delay or distract her. They probably didn't even know what they were helping with, but it was glorious.

In the afternoon, Derek read letters from his family and associates that were aware of his current accommodations, then he'd request to see some part of the county with Allison. They always arrived back in time for supper, and then it was off to bed.

At lunch, Stiles and Derek often forgot about their ages and would play with some part of their meal – little sword fights with thin sliced cheese or building houses with bread and fruit, for example. They discussed business, but not the same way Derek discussed it with the Argents. Derek described running his county with a passion Stiles had seen only once before in his life – in his father. It warmed his heart and kept him listening attentively for longer than he normally gave attention to anything. He even commented back to encourage more from Derek.

Discussions about his county were not the only thing Derek was passionate about, but it was one of only two subjects he put extra effort into. Most of the time, he was content to let Stiles do all the talking. Stiles would rant about a novel or other book he'd read, and then afterward they would debate about it. Stiles used a lot of words to make his point, whereas Derek was so succinct that it was hard to argue with him. Which was aggravating and amazing at the same time. It was also totally unfair.

Stiles was lost in a haze of happiness he'd long forgotten. Sneaking around under the nose of two people he loathed gave him a rush of exhilaration, and it was coupled with the excitement of a new affair. Sure, he and Derek could never be public or official, but for the short time he'd have Derek to himself, Stiles would enjoy every moment. And there was something irresistible in that kind of secret as well.

In fact, Stiles was so distracted by his secrets and his stolen moments and his infatuation that he entirely forgot about his mistress's own secrets. Kate was so quiet those first few days that it was easy to forget about her. She threw no fits, sent no letters, and generally stayed out of the way. Her father gave her stern looks whenever she opened her mouth at the dining table, giving Stiles the impression that he'd threatened her with disinheritance should she say or do anything wild or embarrassing or even particularly flirtatious. She still tried to strike up conversation whenever possible, but those often went nowhere important.

Only three days into Stiles' affair, a letter came for her that changed everything. Stiles accepted the letter from a disgruntled Reddick and walked it back to the study with no concern. The letter itself was a bit heavier and bulkier than a normal letter, even more so than when Derek used to hide secondary letters in his. There was something besides paper hidden inside.

Without being summoned, Lady Katherine Argent showed up just behind him. That's too mellow of a description, actually. She burst into the room in her hunting gear, clearly caught on her way to kill something, and yet still had the gall to look seductive as she stalked her way across the room to Stiles. She was like a feral cat, and her intense eyes startled him even when they were set above a sickeningly sweet smile.

"Stiles," she cooed when she reached him. She tapped a finger to his cheek. "My sweet boy. I feel we never see each other these days." Her eyes dragged slowly to the envelope, like she was analyzing his jugular on the way down. "I see we have business to attend to. Be a dear and open that missive, would you?"

"Are you feeling alright?" Stiles asked, cautious, as he slid the letter opener along the lip of the envelope and procured the letter.

"Never mind that," Kate said, one hand on her hip. "Just read."

' _Lady Katherine Argent,_

 _My name is Marin Morrell. I run an apothecary in_ _Gévaudan_. _A mutual acquaintance, Mr. Adrian Harris, wrote to me about a less than fortunate situation you find yourself in. Mr. Harris says you solved your last problem with a heavy dosage of moringa root. Unfortunately, I do not deal in moringa. The root is too easy to mistake with the bark, and I cannot risk poisoning one of my customers when all they desire is a rejuvenating tea._

 _However, I do keep in stock a healthy selection of aconitum. You may know this herb better by another name – Leopard's or Wolf's Bane. It has a few medicinal uses, and one of them may better suit your desires than the moringa root. I have enclosed a small sample of the plant. It will not be enough to rid you of your problem, but should give you an idea of its potency. Simply grind it up and flavor your drink or food of choice with it. Don't worry. If you eat it straight, it has a harsh, bitter tang, but if you grind it fine enough, you won't taste it over the flavor of your food._

 _If you desire a more potent sampling or a concentrated dose, send a return missive or visit me at my shop. We can discuss payment and delivery then._

 _Ms. Marin Morell_

Stiles frowned and folded the letter. He'd never heard of moringa root, but something told him he'd heard or read something about this aconitum before. He'd been slightly remiss in his Latin studies, but even that probably wouldn't have helped him. Knowing Latin and knowing the names of medicinal plants were two totally different things.

Setting the letter aside, Stiles reached for the envelope, but Kate snatched it up first. From inside she slid out a tiny flower. It had rounded, bright yellow petals and a deep green stem. This particular sample was so small that the spread petals were barely the size of Kate's smallest fingertip.

She didn't seem to mind. Her smile was broad and wicked.

"Magnificent," she murmured. Her eyes flickered to Stiles and caught him staring at the flower. She quickly slipped the herb into the pocket of her hunting vest and frowned at him. "Well, I won't require your services after all, scribe," she said, not even deigning to use his name. "But I do have other business with you."

"If you don't need me to write, I don't know what you want." Not that Stiles was meant to be writing. The doctor had told him not to attempt the activity for another four days.

Kate swayed a little closer and returned her lips to a seductive smile. "Stiles. Poor, lowly Stiles. I told you, I feel like I never see you anymore. Allison keeps stealing you away to be her guard with Lord Hale, and you never seem to be around otherwise. I'm just so curious where it is you keep running off to." She reached up and tapped him on the nose, like toying with a child.

Frowning, Stiles wrinkled his nose. "Funny. You never seemed to care much where I was before."

Her eyes went cold, and she slapped him, sending his head snapping to the side. "Do not give me your sass today, _scribe_. I don't give a damn what you've been doing in the woods. I want to know what's happening between my _dear_ niece and Lord Hale every afternoon."

Cheek burning, Stiles set his gaze into as impassive a look as possible. He faced her head on and shrugged. "Nothing is happening between them," he said. Then he couldn't help it. His forehead knit and he was nearly glaring at her. "Not that it's any business of yours what Lord Hale does. It's not like he's ever going to marry you."

He expected the slap that time, but he let it happen. Defending his face would only have made her reaction worse. It stung even worse the second time, and his eyes almost began to tear. Blinking the desire away, he looked up toward the door and felt his stomach drop.

The door was still open from when Kate had barged in. Down the hall, just far enough away that he probably hadn't been able to hear what they were saying, was Lord Derek Hale. Earshot was one thing, but he'd definitely been able to see Kate slap Stiles.

"Do you need to go to the Den? What are you looking a-" Kate turned her glare on whatever Stiles was staring at and gasped. Her expression instantly softened and she covered her mouth like some sort of dainty lady.

Embarrassment and shame welled up in Stiles' chest and he sucked in a heavy, shaking breath.

"Derek!" she exclaimed in shock. The lord moved swiftly to the doorway, his eyes jumping between the two of them, like he didn't know what was more important – staring in disgust at Kate or in horror at Stiles. It was downright unbearable.

"What on earth-," Derek began.

"Don't be alarmed," Kate said, her sweetness dripping over the words. "He was being excessively rude. Sometimes servants get difficult. You just have to show a little strength and they straighten right up."

She kept going with her excuses, but Stiles didn't hear it. All he could hear was his own heavy breathing. Derek had seen him get hit. Derek had been _right there_. It was one thing for Derek to know it was happening, for him to fret over Stiles' hand. It was another thing entirely for Derek to witness it.

He couldn't stand the humiliation. Without asking for leave, Stiles shoved past both of them and into the hall. His clouded ears heard Derek call for him as though from a great distance away, but he didn't stop. He had to get out of there, out of the room and out of this house and definitely out from under Derek's pitying eyes.

He walked as fast as he could, as far as he could, until he was sure he was alone and his jelly legs refused to carry him any further. He crumpled to the dirt without really knowing where he was and sucked in a heaving gasp of air. Pressing his back to the wood of the stables, he bent forward until his head was between his knees, and tried to breathe. Just breathe, damn it!

But his mind was on that threat of going to the Den and Derek seeing him get abused and- and Kate trying to convince Derek that Stiles had _deserved it._ Some irrational part of his mind had called out and convinced the rest of Stiles that it was right – what if Derek believed her? What if he thought the hand breaking was too far but bought into Kate's rationale of why smacking Stiles was acceptable?

And what if he didn't? Even if he knew that the smack was unacceptable, he'd still seen it happen. He'd seen Stiles being weak. He'd seen Stiles stand there and take it and not even attempt to defend himself! But if he had tried to defend himself, Kate would have hit him even harder somewhere else, and then Derek would have seen him really beaten and truly weak. There was no winning the situation! And God, what if Derek found out about the Den? What if he found out that Stiles had regularly been taken into a room and LET himself get beaten until something broke?!

His mind spiraled until he was too dizzy to focus even on what was making him panic. The logical part of his brain had been smothered under the self-deprecating and destructive thoughts that lingered, constantly, at the back of his mind. But now those thoughts were in the forefront and he couldn't stop them. He pressed his hands over his ears and didn't even notice that he'd begun to rock slightly, trying to rid himself of the nervous, panicky energy.

He couldn't breathe. His breaths were harried and unhelpful. He couldn't see. His eyes were closed tight, like blinding himself might make his thoughts stop racing. He no longer knew if he was truly alone, but he couldn't bring himself to care. He just wanted the panic to pass.

Someone grabbed him by the wrists and he startled, his head snapping up from between his knees. The accompanying gasp left him feeling light headed, and it took a moment for his blurred vision to focus.

"D-" He was still breathless, but his heartbeat was calming and his lungs were slowly remembering how to function. There was a slight, distant ring in his ears, but he could now hear the soft call of birdsong in the trees around him. His eyes had cleared first and did not change, and so he saw very clearly that Derek had been the one to find him.

Intense, quiet Derek Hale. He was crouched in front of Stiles, his strong hands around both of Stiles' wrists. He said nothing in response to Stiles' attempt to speak. Instead he waited, as though he knew Stiles needed the time to regain his faculties. Only when Stiles finally, finally tried to tug his arms away did Derek release him and move.

The lord shifted to sit on the ground beside him, his attentive gaze never leaving Stiles. His pants would get a bit dirty, but it would be nothing compared to the dirt Stiles could now see all over his own pants. He'd ruined both knees and most of his shins when he'd hit the dirt. The maids were going to hate him.

Derek let the silence continue for another minute or two, the only close sound being the birds. Behind them, a few horse knickers could be heard, but there was no human movement. Finally, the lord took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Are you alright?"

Stiles snorted, a very impolite thing. The panic had become an undertone to his thoughts again, but was he alright? "I'm fine."

Derek pulled a face, as though he wanted very much to contest that statement, but he refrained. Instead he said, "Do you have these anxiety attacks often?"

It was, perhaps, the first time anyone had ever asked him that question. Stiles resisted the urge to look at Derek and instead focused on the leaves of the brush twenty feet in front of him. "No?" He frowned. "I- I had a few when I was young. After my mother passed, I fell into a fit maybe… four times in the first month? The, um…" He hated this. "Sorry. I must sound so pathetic."

Derek shook his head. "My brother used to have them," he said. "He has no title, no real requirements of him, so he always felt ashamed of the attacks. But his anxiety came from a fear of disappointing society as a whole. I had a set course in life – a future in business, carrying on my family's name and responsibilities. He had nothing. He could choose a profession, a life that he wanted, but what if he chose wrong? What if his choices embarrassed the family?"

Stiles understood that. His father's title had been far less impressive, but Stiles had still worried. He'd covered his worry in jokes and insults and sass, but he understood the anxiety of it.

"Every time he was faced with a major decision, he'd collapse in a fit. Eventually he was collapsing even when given small decisions. It was embarrassing for our father, but my mother understood the seriousness of it. She invited a specialist into our home. She got Peter the help and care he needed to function. At first, he had medication because he had the fits so often. Nowadays, he gets on fine without it." Derek shifted, stretched one leg out in front of him. "It was a scary time for all of us. At first we didn't know what was wrong with him. The first time I witnessed a fit, I thought- I thought he was dying. He would grab on so tightly to my arm… He was only twelve when they started. Twelve."

He cleared his throat, waking from an unpleasant memory. "But he's fine now. He got counseling. He discussed a lot with our father. Now he's on a path of his choosing, doing something he hopes will make a difference in the world."

"A lawyer," Stiles murmured, nodding. "You told me in your letters. He's working with your uncle. Must be odd for them – both being named Peter."

At that, Derek almost snorted. "Yes, it is difficult sometimes. I'm sure that didn't help him either – being named after a crazy uncle who was already kind of a family embarrassment. But he's a Hale. He adapted. He rose above."

Silence fell between them again, and Stiles hazarded a glance at Derek. The lord was no longer watching him, instead looking off into the trees where a pair of birds were jumping around, arguing over some kind of treat they'd found.

Stiles let out a slow breath. Maybe… Maybe Derek wouldn't judge him. "I had to be medicated too," he admitted. "After my mother passed, I was so bad that my father quietly got me a medical remedy. It was some kind of sedative. It took a year, but I finally seemed to get over my attacks too. I no longer panicked when I couldn't find my mother in the house. I thought I was alright. I stopped taking the medicine."

"But they came back?" Derek asked, quiet.

Stiles shrugged. "Not a lot. This was… I've only had three in the past five years. Once right after my father-" He cleared his throat. "Twice since coming to work here. Not a bad record, I think."

Derek shook his head. "None would be a better record." He slowly put a hand on Stiles' knee, and it felt so intimate that Stiles almost went dizzy all over again. "As would be a record of how many times you have been hit."

Stiles let out a loud ironic laugh at that statement, but he quickly covered his mouth to silence himself. "Sorry. That was badly timed." He relaxed his back against the stable wall and quickly put his hand over Derek's on his knee when it felt like the lord might be pulling away. "I just need a moment. Just- Just don't go anywhere, alright?"

"Alright," Derek agreed in his low, rumbling voice. It made Stiles shiver, but he was too tired from the anxiety attack to put much thought into it

Derek let them sit in silence, their hands layered together, for several minutes. Stiles kept his eyes closed and concentrated on his breathing, soaking up every sensation of Derek's skin on his for as long as the lord would allow it.

Eventually, though, the silence had to be broken. Derek shifted so he could properly hold Stiles' hand and brought them to rest between the two of them instead of on Stiles' knee. He closed his other hand around them and nodded.

"Stiles, I know from your letters that your name isn't actually Stiles; that you let everyone address you by the nickname your father gave you. I also know that you have always felt uncomfortable discussing your true name, but-" He paused and frowned, looking down at their hands as though he were losing his grip, though Stiles was holding on tight. "Stiles, if I am to write to my uncle, I need to know your name."

Part of Stiles was touched that Derek remembered where his moniker came from. The rest of him knotted up. "You understand that hiding my name has nothing to do with trusting you, right?" If he hadn't trusted Derek, he wouldn't have admitted all that information about his anxiety.

"It was hard to understand at first, but I think I've had enough time to realize it wasn't a personal jab," Derek admitted. "Especially since even everyone here calls you that."

Stiles nodded and picked at the grass by his feet. It was true that the Argents all knew his real name, but the servants did not. The servants all believed him to be some nephew-in-law of a third son of a Baron, or something of the sort – untitled and almost common. They'd never believe it if Stiles told them the truth.

"My name-" He stopped, the words trapped in his throat.

Derek wanted to help him. Stiles should let Derek and Allison help him. They could find out how much he owed Kate. That way he could figure out how much longer he'd be trapped here and if he really needed Derek's help at all. Maybe the sum was almost paid in full. But to find out, he'd have to put a claim to his name, and it still stung to think of the time in his life when he'd called himself anything but Stiles.

"My father's name was Noah Stilinski," he said. Taking a deep breath for courage, he hesitated only a moment before adding, " _Lord_ Noah Stilinski, Baron of Goodwater."

He couldn't bring himself to look at Derek, but the silence was telling enough. Waiting for Derek's reaction, he unconsciously held his breath. How would the future Earl take such news?

"I expected you were more than a mere scribe," Derek finally said, voice calm and quiet. "Your education was clear in your writings. Yet… Stiles, you're titled?"

Stiles shook his head, still not looking over. "The title was lost when my father… when he died. Kate has it now. I didn't believe her at first, but she had the papers to prove it – by royal decree and everything." He let out a long sigh. "Don't worry yourself about it. You knew me to be untitled before I confirmed it. This doesn't change anything."

There was a sudden hand upon his shoulder, and he startled. Derek was staring intently at him when Stiles finally turned in his direction. Derek looked serious and slightly hurt. It was not a look Stiles had ever seen on him. He didn't particularly like it.

"I'm sorry for your loss," he said, and whether he meant the loss of Lord Stilinski or the loss of the title, Stiles wasn't certain.

Either way, he said, "Thank you."

With a nod, Derek slipped his hand away. "I will write to my uncle and see what we can find out about dealings between your father and Lady Katherine. With any luck, you'll be out of here before the new year."

The news should be exciting, but instead Stiles felt unusually wary. He frowned. "Why?" he asked. "Why do you care so much what happens to me? Before now, you knew me only as a scribe, just some well written words on paper. Yet you show up and want to rescue me from my circumstances. If I'm just some charity to you, I'd rather you not write to your uncle. I'm fine where I-"

But Derek stopped him with a look and a single word. "Don't."

The clouds overhead moved slowly over the sun and cast them into a shadow, and Stiles was stuck, speechless under Derek's gaze. His chest ached, but he wasn't sure why.

"Until I began corresponding with you, I was… I had sealed myself away with my work. My every moment was business and politics, and then I had this sudden outlet. Somehow we were talking about nothing… about everything. I've never had a friend to discuss literature and culture with before. Everyone I normally associate with expects my discussions to be politically important or with a hidden meaning behind my words. But with you, I was able to open up, talk about things without worrying you'd misinterpret them or use them against me." He squeezed Stiles' shoulder gently. "You were the first real friend I had in ten years. I came to care about you in a way I didn't care about… about anyone outside of my family. You were always honest with me, apart from your name, and I respected that. I… I _care_ about you, Stiles. Is it so odd for me to want to help you?"

Oh. That ache in Stiles was the desire to kiss Derek. And it was the desire to never hear the word 'friend' out of his mouth again.

"I suppose not," he admitted with a lazy roll of his shoulders. He squinted as the clouds moved out of the way of the sun once more. Then he sighed. "My own personal issues aside, I think you're expected back at the house. Aren't you and Allison meant to tour the countryside this afternoon?"

With a nod, Derek stood, and then he offered a hand down to help Stiles to his feet. "Don't forget to add yourself to this party, Lord Stilinski. You're the lovely lady's bodyguard."

Stiles groaned and winced. "Please. Don't."

Frowning, Derek murmured, "Sorry."

They walked back to the house in silence, not touching. Inside, they both returned to their rooms to change clothes, almost without a word to the other. It was a strange, strained sort of silence they'd never experienced before. It was Stiles' fault, he knew. He'd revealed his heritage and his greatest sign of weakness all in the course of half an hour. Now he had to find a way to move beyond the strain of that and get back to kissing Derek Hale while he had the chance… but it wouldn't be done in half a day.

"Damn it," he cursed silently in his room. "Why are you like this, Stiles?"

He refused to answer himself.


	14. Chapter 14

Warning: This chapter has explicit sexual content.

* * *

' _Ms. Morrell,_

 _I will be stopping by your shop tomorrow evening to peruse your stock of herbs._

 _Lady Katherine Argent'_

The missive was short and simple and exactly the test run they'd all been planning for. Stiles flexed his fingers afterward, still feeling an oddly numb sensation whenever he had to use them. The doctor assured him that the feeling would fade with time, once his fingers got used to being used again. Stiles believed him, because it was a similar sensation to when you'd sat on your foot too long and tried to walk on it.

"Well done, Stiles," Kate said, handing the note back to him.

Stiles sealed the envelope with his newly restored hand. It felt like a statement of pride whenever he used his hand for anything. "So the herb helped you?" he asked.

"Excuse me?" Kate had been making her exit but paused at his words.

"The flower she sent. The sample helped you? I mean, I didn't even know you were sick, but it sounds like you found someone to help you manage your-"

Kate clapped her hands loudly. Had she been near him and not across the room, he expected he would have been slapped, but he didn't know why.

"Stiles." She pressed her lips together and then smiled tightly. "Dear, stupid Stiles. I hired you to write my letters, not to pry into my private life. Just post the letter and don't tell anyone what's in my mail. Do we have an understanding?" He said nothing, but she continued with, "Good."

Then she was gone and Stiles was left alone with the sealed letter. It was both normal for Kate to be protective of her personal affairs and odd for her to care that Stiles had taken an interest. Usually she liked to flaunt her personal affairs in his face. Not that he much cared.

Lunch was nearly upon them when Stiles handed off the letter. He and Derek had made no plans to dine together. The lord had to keep up his appearances at the Argent table more often than he ate with Stiles, and Stiles did his best not to pout about it. Normally Stiles went to eat with the servants, but this time he changed his mind. He wasn't particularly hungry anyway.

Ever since revealing his ex-title, Stiles could tell Derek thought differently of him. He would catch the lord staring at him even when they weren't alone, threatening their entire enterprise, and when they were alone Derek often kept his hand on some part of Stiles' body – like his arm or knee. It was as if Derek thought Stiles needed constant grounding or protection, and Stiles felt both excited at the contact and queasy about the reasoning behind all the touching. He hated that Derek thought of him as weaker now because of his fit or more pitiable because of his loss of title.

The mixed feelings he got whenever Derek and he were alone, or even when Allison accompanied them, was one reason he didn't mind not seeing Derek for lunch. It was also why he had a loss of appetite.

Instead of eating, Stiles went to the library. He was still curious what kind of ailment Kate had that needed curing, and her defensive nature had only doubled his interest. In the library, he scanned the shelves until he found a book of medical plants and herbs. He scanned the pages for Kate's original cure, the moringa root, but there was no mention of the plant. Next he searched for aconitum. Again, the medical book had no listing of it.

If these plants were to help cure Kate of some hidden affliction, why were they not listed in a book of medical uses for plants?

Frowning, a dark thought entered Stiles' mind. What if the plants weren't for healing? He scanned the shelves, looking for a book of non-medical plants and soon discovered a book documenting an extensive collection of herbs and roots. Moringa was listed under a section of foreign folk medicine. There didn't seem to be any downsides. Its listed benefits were everything from curing headaches to increasing libido, depending on the part of the plant used.

Gross. Stiles' dark thoughts scattered as he imagined her needing the root to help her sex life. Maybe she needed it to help her lovers? She certainly didn't give the impression of a decreased libido herself. Maybe she needed it for- for Derek. The thought was at once disgusting and unthinkable. Derek had no interest in Kate, but perhaps that's why she'd sought out moringa. She wanted to get him in the mood. And this new alternative was masked by the flavor of other foods. He'd never know he'd been doused.

Shivering, Stiles closed the book. Thoughts of Derek and Kate were swirling in his mind and he tried to mentally bat them away. He also apparently swung at them in real life, because he knocked two books onto their sides on the shelf. Cursing, he fixed them and told his brain to get out of the disgusting gutter.

He thought only of Derek then, of their long conversations and all the tiny details Derek was interested in now that he knew Stiles' family name. Where did Stiles grow up? Did he have a dog growing up? What kind of games had they played? What was his opinion of his father's method of business? Did he ever sneak into his father's study when he was small to get a look at the documents hidden inside his father's desk even though he was too small to understand a word of them? That answer was most definitely yes.

Then his mind couldn't help but draw back in thoughts of the moringa and Kate… except it wasn't Kate. He imagined Derek eating the laced food and becoming unaccountably hard through his pants – Stiles had a beautiful imagination for that – and then Derek was pulling Stiles from the dinner table and they were in Stiles' room. No, they were in the garden, barely hidden by the hedgerows. No, they were in the forest by the stream, away from all prying eyes.

"God," he groaned and shifted his stance to adjust his own arousal. He needed to get his shit together. He'd probably gotten himself off thinking about Derek every other night of the man's stay. Honestly, he'd thought he'd get over that eventually, but Derek had been around for over a week and Stiles was still horny for him with no signs of it letting up.

"Am I disturbing you?" Derek's deep voice asked, and Stiles turned to find that he was no longer alone in the library.

"No," Stiles said and swallowed hard. "Nope. Not at all. Just looking up plants."

He felt light headed from his fantasy and then finding himself alone with the central figure of that fantasy. Part of him wanted to be pressed up against the bookcases and kissed like a brazen teenager. Part of him wanted both their pants to be off. Part of him wanted Derek's hands all over his body. All three parts were the same part, and it was a very hard part to ignore.

Stiles cleared his throat. "Lunch over already?"

Derek nodded, stepping closer to look at the books behind Stiles. He perused, his finger dragging over titles. "I excused myself for a moment to find you. I wanted to tell you in person that I won't be going around town with Allison today. Lord Christopher Argent and I are going out instead."

"Oh." Stiles' mood deflated, but his body still thrummed with desire. It really needed to take the hint and calm down. "That's alright. I will see you at dinner, though?"

Derek nodded again, and he was still very close. Too close to be strictly proper. If someone walked in on them… Derek leaned forward slightly so his mouth was near Stiles' ear, and Stiles forgot all rational thought.

"I need to speak with you. Can you meet me in the study tonight?"

Stiles could have melted. "Yeah. Yes. Of course." Derek could have asked him to jump through a fiery hoop, and Stiles would have done it.

"I'll see you tonight, then," Derek murmured. His lips briefly touched above Stiles' ear before he pulled away. Then, with a final, silent nod, Derek turned and left the library.

Only when he was gone did Stiles allow himself to fall ungracefully into the nearest chair. He was perhaps even more aroused than he'd been before Derek had entered. What was all that? Derek's deep timber of a voice right in his ear, the kiss to his hair, the request for a late night rendezvous – Stiles almost couldn't stand it.

He hadn't wanted someone so badly since… well ever. He couldn't remember a single person from before his father's death that he'd ever wanted as much as he wanted Derek Hale. Yes, Derek would be an Earl one day and Stiles would never have a title, but he didn't care. He wanted their long lunch talks and the sight of Derek riding horseback in the late summer air. And he wanted Derek late at night, wanted him as intimately as anyone could want another person.

Damn. He rose from the chair and scurried from the room, barely making an effort to appear casual. As quickly as he could, he made his way to his room and shut the door behind himself. He tried to breathe his way through the unusual rise of desire in him, but it seemed he'd once more have to get himself off while thinking of Derek Hale.

To think that all of this started over a dubious letter from Kate. It was ironic because Stiles hated her so much, and yet it was her he had to thank for his current relationship with Derek. Their relationship was so far limited to a few stolen kisses and hand holding sessions, but it was far better than Stiles had initially hoped for. Now he hoped for much more, but he didn't want to ruin everything by pressing Derek to give more than his position would allow.

Although if Derek asked Stiles to sneak away with him and become his secret lover for the rest of his life, Stiles wasn't sure he'd come up with a reason to say no. At least that way, he'd have some part of Derek for himself forever.

* * *

When Stiles made his way to the study, all the lamps had been put out for the night. He walked quietly in the blackness of the house, gauging his path from memory and the slivers of moonlight peeking through some of the curtains. He hoped Derek could find his way too.

He pushed open the door to the study and hesitated in the doorway. Someone was already inside. Derek was seated at the scribe's desk, inspecting the inkwell and rifling slowly through the spare paper. He moved lazily, as though he had all the time in the world and he didn't want to miss anything. It was a complacent, familiar scene, as though that were Derek's desk instead of Stiles'.

Only when Stiles let the door click shut behind him did Derek make any notion that he'd noticed he was no longer alone.

He hummed thoughtfully. "This is where you wrote all your letters," he said. His eyes glanced up at Stiles when the other finally approached, but then returned to the papers. "How can you bare it? Pretending to be little better than a servant when you're a gentleman?"

"I'm not a gentleman," Stiles reminded, slipping the inkwell away and back into its storage space. "I was flippant with that courtesy when I had it and now I _am_ little better than a servant."

Derek frowned. "But you-"

"Have no title, no inheritance, and barely any possessions to my name," Stiles finished for him. His mouth screwed up in an odd frown as he tried to decide if he was sad or annoyed. "I thought I told you already. I'm not notable anymore, but I'm not weak. I don't need you to feel sorry for me."

However, the lord was determined. "But you are the son of a gentleman, aren't you? Surely you have other connections outside of the Argents."

Stiles groaned and turned away from the desk. "Sorry to disappoint, but I don't," he said, not sounding sorry at all. He walked several steps away, his hands half curled into fists. "I'm no one outside of this house, so can we just drop this subject before it starts smoldering?"

Was this what Derek had wanted to discuss? He wanted to talk about Stiles' title, or lack thereof? Damn. Stiles had hoped this meeting would involve more kissing or at least some intimate hand holding and caressing.

"I apologize." Derek rose from the chair and took a hesitant step toward him. "I often say the wrong things around you. I was more eloquent in my letters… I admit, I'm not an experienced conversationalist."

He sounded so self-degrading that Stiles tried to pretend he hadn't been annoyed by the questioning. He returned to facing the lord and shrugged, hands held out in submission. "I think you do just fine. Besides, I speak enough for the both of us. I'm honestly surprised I haven't admitted to far more embarrassing things than I already have. Normally, I admit to all sorts of unacceptable things I try to keep locked in my head."

One of Derek's eyebrows quirked up. "Oh? What kind of embarrassing things?"

Stiles actually snorted. "I just said I try to keep them locked in my head and you want an example?" He meant the question to show that he hadn't meant to share any of his thoughts, but Derek was unmoved and continued to watch him expectantly. Stiles clasped his hands behind his back. "Ahem. Fine then. Something embarrassing… I don't want you to leave next week."

Both of Derek's eyebrows rose at that, and he seemed to draw in the world's longest breath. But he didn't speak, so Stiles, in true Stiles fashion, continued on.

"I'm dreading it, to be honest. Allison is going to school in the spring and moving to the next county. You live across the country, which is far further. Mail is a fine way to keep in touch, but it's abysmally slow, and I have so much to say to you. There really just isn't enough time in the day. I need more than a week, especially a week where you spend half your time surrounded by people I hate."

"I'm not leaving next week," Derek interrupted, and while the statement sounded great to Stiles' ears, Derek's face looked strangely sad. "I'm leaving tomorrow. That's why I asked to meet you tonight. I needed to tell you."

"What?" It felt like someone had punched him in the stomach, and he would know exactly how that felt. Gerard had hit him there a couple of times.

"I received word from my mother today, while I dined with the Argents. It was an emergency post." Derek's frown deepened and his eyes became unfocused, as though he were reading the letter in his mind. "It seems my father has taken suddenly ill. It happened two days ago, but she didn't want to worry me. The doctor says that if his condition improves by tomorrow morning, then all will be well. But if he doesn't, then-"

"Then you need to go," Stiles said, though the words felt almost too thick to voice. He was losing Derek a week earlier than expected. It was the worst news possible. "It's your father. I understand. If I'd been able to-… I would have taken any extra time with my father."

His father hadn't died of an illness, but he felt he understood the situation better than anyone who'd never lost someone. Illness at least gave warnings. Fire gave no last minutes. Fire gave no second chances.

Derek closed the short space between them and slipped his hand tentatively up onto Stiles' cheek. "I don't want to leave you here," he admitted. "As soon as this illness is beaten, I will come back for you. My uncle will have found your records and we can free you from Katherine's clutches."

Maybe it was the memory of his father's last moments, but Stiles felt raw and vulnerable. He put his hand on Derek's and gave a feeble smile. "I told you when we started this… I only asked for a piece of you, Derek. I won't hold it against you if you don't come back."

Derek looked as vulnerable as Stiles felt, and his fingers held tighter to Stiles. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to Stiles' open lips. He held the kiss for several seconds before starting a new one, and then several more. Stiles' hand held to Derek's wrist, and his other hand found the lord's shoulder. It felt like Derek was trying to communicate something to him, something his words couldn't fully say. Stiles wasn't sure what that something was, but the kisses, the grip on his skin, the sound of Derek's breath – it all made him feel grounded and wanted, and he let himself believe in that for a few beautiful moments.

"In the library earlier," Derek breathed out when he finally stopped the kisses. His face was still a bare breath away. "What were you thinking about?"

Stiles' gut stirred and his whole body immediately felt hotter than it already did from the kissing. He remembered the book of plants, the uses for moringa, the thoughts of Derek and Kate, the thoughts of Derek and him. His next breath came out stuttered and he pulled back.

"P-Plants," he half-lied. He pushed past Derek toward the desk so that Derek couldn't see his flushed face. "Kate needed a letter about a plant, a moringa root, and I was looking up what it was for."

"What is it for?" Derek asked, but it didn't sound like he cared. He sounded too deep and husky to be normal.

"All kinds of stuff," Stiles muttered and reached out to adjust the paper on the desk. He'd been trying not to let his mind wander to those thoughts. Derek was leaving and they had no real future together. He needed to keep those thoughts inside his brain for once.

One of Derek's strong hands slipped around his waist, and all the breath in Stiles stopped. His groin was definitely not on the same page as his brain, and he cursed himself inwardly. _Stop it_ , he told his body. _You're asking for too much._

"I saw-" Derek's voice hesitated, his breath ghosting over Stiles' ear. "I thought I saw… You looked like you needed to loosen your clothes."

Stiles felt embarrassment flood his system. Derek had seen his erection through his pants. It was mortifying and… strangely hot. He managed to breathe again, but it was heavy. "Derek," he murmured, and it sounded like a question to his own ears.

They were alone in the middle of the night, and Derek's arm was around his waist, and Derek was standing so close that Stiles could feel the heat of him through his clothes, and his voice was gruff in Stiles' ear, and- And it was possible that this lord might once again be of the same mindset as Stiles. Because Stiles really, really, really wanted to be touched, to be wanted by Derek Hale for even one night, even if he couldn't keep all of Derek forever, and especially if he was losing Derek in the morning. And it certainly seemed that Derek wanted to touch Stiles more too, because his hand was sitting lower on Stiles' stomach than strictly necessary and his breath sounded too heavy behind Stiles.

"Tell me something," Derek murmured. "An unacceptable thing you can't keep in."

Derek knew. He knew or he wouldn't have asked this way. Stiles leaned his head back against Derek and sighed out, loudly – a sound of giving in. "I was thinking of you," he admitted. He squeezed his eyes shut, a lump building in his throat. "I really… really don't want to lose you in the morning." Then, quieter, "I was thinking of you."

Derek's lips were on his throat, his hands moving up Stiles' stomach and chest. A gasp slipped out of Stiles' lips and he reached back, hand finding Derek's hip. The lord's fingers moved deftly, easily undoing the buttons of Stiles' shirt, and then his hot hands were directly on Stiles' skin. Stiles groaned as Derek's fingers ghosted over his nipples, and he felt Derek shiver behind him.

With barely a moment of warning, Derek pulled back and turned Stiles to face him. He pressed Stiles back until the scribe was half sitting on the desk. He captured Stiles' lips again, his fingers returning to Stiles' chest. Stiles had to support himself on the desk with one arm, but the other was firmly attached to Derek's hair, not letting him move away again as they kissed.

Derek's hands slid around him, pulling him closer, and then his fingers found the bumps of Stiles' burn scars. Derek didn't slow down, didn't hesitate, and it felt freeing to know that the marks didn't turn Derek off. The man's hands were everywhere, making Stiles' head spin until even he didn't care about the scars.

Stiles' body was hot and thrumming and Derek kept toying with his nipples, and he was going to lose his mind. He gasped mid-kiss and his whole body rocked forward with the desire to be closer.

Derek growled, something full of desire, and started undoing his own buttons while he reattached his lips to Stiles' neck. His mind was a little hazy, but Stiles was pretty sure he moaned Derek's name, and he got a little nip of teeth for his trouble, which just had him moaning again. He covered his mouth, trying to muffle the sound. They were alone, but someone could still hear them.

When Derek's shirt was fully open, he withdrew from Stiles' neck and pulled the hand away from Stiles' mouth. "You won't lose me in the morning," he said. Then he pressed their lips together and reached for the strings holding Stiles' pants on.

He made short work of the laces and then the pants were shimmied lower and Derek's hand was on his crotch and Stiles knew only that he wanted to press his whole body to Derek's and never move away. He was rocking into Derek's hand without shame, and Derek was watching him with those intense eyes, and it was all going to be over before it had really begun.

"Derek," Stiles panted. "I'm-"

The hand pulled away from Stiles' erection, keeping his climax at bay, and he actually whimpered. With hardly any effort, Derek wrapped an arm around Stiles' body, pulled him close, and lifted him from the desk. He walked them the suddenly huge distance to the couch and laid Stiles down on it, their bodies still pressed close.

After another kiss, Derek nosed at Stiles' neck. "I'm going to admit an unacceptable thing too," he murmured. "I want to touch you. I never want to stop touching you. In every way possible."

"God. So touch me," Stiles groaned and rolled his hips up into Derek's. He could feel the other's erection, still trapped inside his pants, and he moaned. He needed to see it, to feel it. "Touch me right now, Derek."

They undid Derek's laces together and then disposed of most of their clothes at once, shoes discarded haphazardly on the floor. It was just them, bare except for their open shirts, and Stiles had no words for how gorgeous he thought Derek was, hovering over him like a wolf on the prowl.

"God," he breathed out, daring to drag his fingers down Derek's chest and into the hair at the base of his belly. Derek's eyes closed, a soft moan escaping him.

Then there was no air for words. Derek was kissing him and rubbing against him, and it was obvious he wanted to slide himself firmly into Stiles, but neither of them had planned for this, so there was no lubricant to ease the process, and Derek didn't seem keen to put Stiles through that. But Stiles ached for it – ached in a way he hadn't known was possible.

They fumbled and thrust against one another, and Stiles had to cover his mouth again to hold back the sounds. The sight seemed to make Derek even more intense. He brought his hand up to his mouth and licked his finger, and Stiles didn't understand why until Derek reached that hand down and probed Stiles' ass with the slick finger.

"Ah, yes." The gasp, the beg, was audible through his hand as it slipped slightly away from his lips. "Please."

The finger pressed in and Stiles bit his lip around the moan. Just that little bit of extra sensation sent a jolt of electricity through him and he came, hot and sticky, across both their stomachs. Derek did not immediately remove his finger, but Stiles wasn't complaining. The shivers of sensation it caused with every thrust of Derek's hips carried Stiles through the pleasurable aftershocks of his climax.

Derek came shortly after, the sight of Stiles' blissful climax almost enough on its own to send him over the edge. Then he pulled his finger free and lay, half collapsed, on top of Stiles. They panted together, both sticky and wet and still enjoying the feeling of skin to skin contact.

When they had caught their breaths, Derek pressed a final kiss to Stiles' lips and lifted himself up. "You look even more irresistible than you did the first day we met," he said.

An undignified giggle escaped Stiles, and he covered his mouth to try and stop it. But he couldn't help it. His mind was blissfully foggy in the afterglow, and his heart felt full to bursting. Above him, Derek smiled, and Stiles thought he could probably die happy if he could just look at that smile for the rest of his life.


	15. Chapter 15

The morning arrived like any other, but soon a flurry of movement took over the household. Lord Hale's personal items were gathered from his room and loaded into his carriage baggage rack. The final breakfast was grand enough for two visiting earls, not one future Earl. There were enough eggs for each person, including Stiles and the other scribes, to have nearly a dozen. There was cinnamon oatmeal enough for ten people, and five kinds of fruit were sliced and displayed on tower-like trays. Stiles had rarely seen such a feast for breakfast in his entire four years with the Argents. Earl Gévaudan was making one final display of wealth and power for Lord Hale.

Across the table, Stiles made frequent glances at Derek and was delighted to find his attempts mimicked by the lord. They tried to remain subtle, but Stiles couldn't help the smile on his face that lasted well throughout the meal and beyond.

Allison and her father kept the conversation from drifting too far into general rudeness – which Earl Gévaudan seemed to be determined toward – or from devolving into sweet flirtations – which Kate was adamantly attempting. Derek generally pretended neither of the two were even at the table, and that made Stiles grin even more.

"Why are you so happy?" Kate sneered at him as they moved into the entryway to bid Lord Hale goodbye.

"It's a beautiful day. Besides, don't you want me to seem happy while a lord is present?" Stiles asked, purposely dampening his grin.

"You look like a fool." Kate's mood was so sour that Stiles was surprised her morning milk hadn't spoiled in her mouth. But nothing she said was going to upset Stiles today – not after the night he'd had.

"I'll make sure to smile more in the future," Stiles replied. "It'll give you a reason to scold me, and you've always enjoyed that."

Her glare intensified, but Stiles moved away from her and toward the front doors, where the party had migrated to wave goodbye. Derek was giving his compliments to Earl and Lord Argent when Stiles stepped into the sun, shielding his eyes momentarily from the brightness.

"You should return quickly," Earl Gévaudan was saying with the most genuine positivity Stiles had possibly ever heard from him. The Earl's eyes flickered to his granddaughter and his smile turned mischievous. "I'm sure a certain someone will greatly miss your attention and company."

Derek did not glance back at Stiles, but that may have been too much of a giveaway if he had. He did, however, follow Earl Gévaudan's glance to Allison.

"I'm sure I will be grieved to leave some of this company behind as well," he said. He turned fully to Allison and bowed. "Lady Allison," he said in parting.

"It was a pleasure to assist you, Lord Hale," she said, curtseying.

"Earl Gévaudan. Lord Argent," Derek said, turning and inclining his head to both men in turn.

"You're welcome back any time," Lord Argent assured. "My best wishes for your father's health."

Then Derek was in his carriage and mostly blocked from view. Only then, when everyone was in the same direction for him, did Derek's eyes find Stiles. And Stiles was certain it was him, and no one else, that Derek was looking at, for he'd already made his farewells to the others.

They held eye contact until the carriage began to move and Derek was pulled out of view around the bend of the drive. Stiles wanted to stand there until the whole carriage was out of view, but the Argents all moved as one back into the house and he was swept up in their tide.

"A fine visit, I think," Earl Gévaudan was saying, looking rather pleased. "I should say it won't be long until we hear news of an engagement."

"Father-" Lord Argent began haltingly.

"Engagement?" Kate spun to face her father, shoes squeaking on the tiled floor.

"Of course!" Gerard laughed darkly and motioned proudly at Allison. "Our young Allison here did a standup job. I daresay the foolish young lord is quite smitten with her."

"Grandfather, I-" Allison tried to protest, but her words were bowled over.

"Allison?" Kate's voice was venomous. "I'm the one who wrote to him, who managed to grab his attention and got him to visit us in the first place. Yet you interfered with me at every step! It should be me, not Allison, receiving your praise. And it should be _me_ , not Allison, becoming a countess!"

"You?" Gerard laughed again, a mirthless sound this time. "I wouldn't give you the honor of considering such a thing. You've embarrassed me one too many times. Given your last great blunder, I'd have thought you'd learned by now – you will only ever be as good as the man you marry, and there seems to be no man in line for the honor." He sniffed derisively. "You think I'd let you flirt your way into a title anywhere near my own? Don't flatter yourself, dear. It's not becoming of a lady."

"If I were a son-!" Kate shouted.

"If you were a son!? If you were a son, you would still be an untitled, ungrateful second child!" Earl Gévaudan shouted right back. "Now leave my sight until you have something worth my attention!"

Huffing, Kate turned and stormed away, her unnecessarily ruffled dress swaying around her. They could hear her shuffling outfit long after she had gone, and that was the most embarrassing part.

Lord Argent took up a similar but different argument in her stead. "Father, be serious. Allison is not interested in marriage. She wants to go to school – to a university. She has no time for-"

"No time? Nonesense!"

Allison tugged on Stiles' hand to get his attention and motioned with her head to make for her room. He shifted toward the staircase but hesitated when Earl Gévaudan spoke again, this time much quieter.

"Off with the rest of you. Let this old man rest." He slowly made his way toward his study, and Stiles and Allison wasted no time in escaping up the stairs. Lord Argent lingered in the entryway, his eyes slowly watching his daughter leave and then drifting toward his father's back. Stiles still had no idea what went on inside that man's head.

Allison shut the door behind Stiles and then moved quickly to take a seat on the chaise. "So? You've been beaming all morning. Did something happen?"

With a dreamy sigh, Stiles let himself flop most ungracefully onto the bed. "So much," he said. "You would blush at some of the things."

She giggled mischievously. "Oh, do tell. Was it more kissing? Did he perhaps let his fingers caress your collarbone?"

"I never kiss and tell, my dear," Stiles teased. "But suffice it to say that if your aunt was aware of what happened in the study last night, she'd never want to sit on that sofa again."

Allison gasped. "You don't mean-"

Stiles jumped up to lay on his side facing her. "I most certainly do. Your friend Stiles defiled that couch in ways he was not aware were possible. Well, two ways, at least. The other way was pretty standard, I think. Although it was my first time, so I'm not exactly an expert."

Allison chucked the chaise's pillow at him, which he failed to block. "Oh God, Stiles! You rake!" she exclaimed. "I have to go in there sometimes! I'm never going to be able to sit on the couch again!"

Shrugging haplessly, Stiles said, "You wanted the details."

After a halting minute, Stiles smiled at her and she couldn't help but grin at him too. Her cheeks were hot with embarrassment that Stiles should feel but didn't. In a quieter voice, she asked, "Was it good?"

Stiles thought back to the three times Derek had gotten him off the night before, of the look on the lord's face, of the closeness of their bodies even when they weren't moving. "Yes," he said. "It was most definitely the best night of my life."

"I'm sorry he had to leave," Allison said suddenly, frowning at him.

"Me too. But he promised he'd come back soon. I'm not used to such good luck, but I'm trying to stay positive for once." Stiles sat up and rested his arms over his knees. "Although it is hard listening to your grandfather trying to marry you to him."

She snorted. "Pay him no mind. He doesn't know what he's talking about. I have no interest in Lord Hale, and clearly he has no interest in me. If he had, it wouldn't have been you in the study last night."

Stiles agreed, and they moved on to another subject. They sat down to play cards, but every few turns Allison would pause and make some exclamation or comment about Stiles and Derek or what they did. She was torn between righteous embarrassment and a sort of curious jealousy, but she never said as much. Stiles could see all the questions she had about the intimacies of what happened as though they were written in the blush on her cheeks.

The bell downstairs rang, announcing the arrival of the post, and Stiles had half a mind to go down and check for any letters to Kate, but decided against it. If Kate required him, she'd call for him. He was enjoying the morning with his best friend – the only way he could stop himself from beginning to mourn the loss of Derek.

When the lunch bell rang, Stiles and Allison finally stopped their game and Allison had to concede defeat. Having lost at far more games than badminton to Allison, Stiles held this victory close and tried not to gloat about it. He did beam incessantly though, which had Allison elbowing him all the same.

They descended the stairs and came face to face with Lady Katherine and her father. Earl Gévaudan was reading a letter, his face turning almost purple with rage. When Stiles and Allison reached the bottom floor, his furious eyes snapped up to Stiles.

"Is this true?" he barked, shaking the letter.

"Is what true?" Stiles wanted to say he wasn't psychic, but it seemed like a bad idea given the man's fury.

"A letter arrived for Lord Hale this morning. Lady Katherine brought it to my attention. What excuse do you have for this?" Earl Gévaudan held the letter in both hands to stop it from shaking and read aloud. "Dear nephew, I have looked into the subject you requested and discovered an interesting amount about the dealings between Baron Goodwater and Lady Katherine Argent. _Your little lover_ had quiet the impressive father."

He stopped there and faced Stiles again, and Stiles resisted stepping closer. "You read his mail?" Stiles asked, forehead knitting in agitation. "How dare-"

"How dare?!" Earl Gévaudan roared. "Why you insignificant- How dare _you_! You've been sneaking around betraying this family for months, and you dare question _me_?"

Stiles didn't even get to form the words. Before he could ask how he'd been betraying them for months, Kate held up a stack of letters tied together with a string. Her face was deliciously pleased.

"Been keeping a secret pen pal, have we?" she asked, and her expression turned dark. "You've made a fool of me. Did the two of you find it amusing to use my letters as pack mules for your disgusting correspondence?"

"There's nothing disgusting about them," Stiles argued and made to reach for his letters. Kate pulled them out of reach and sneered at him. With no hesitation, she backhanded him, leaving his face stinging and red. Allison shouted in alarm.

"A fine time to lie, Stiles, but you can't hide anymore. A scullery maid saw you last night." Her lips curled further in distaste. "Two grown men, humping like animals."

Now it was Earl Gévaudan who grabbed Stiles, pulling him forward several feet and causing him to stumble. "Lord Hale was meant to marry Allison! How dare you use your filthy flirtations to stray his attentions! Were you distracting him every time the three of you went out? I ought to-"

And though he said 'ought to', he fulfilled the desire to bring a fist to Stiles' gut and sent him heaving to the floor. Stiles held his stomach, gasping and wheezing and trying not to choke on air. Allison stepped up and wedged herself between Stiles and her grandfather.

"Stop! Stop it!" she cried. "It's not his fault! Lord Hale has no interest in me, _or_ Kate for the matter. He was never going to marry us!"

Gerard did not raise a hand to his granddaughter, but his murderous eyes never left Stiles either. Kate, however, had no problem manhandling her niece and quickly ripped her aside, exposing Stiles again.

"I refuse to believe that," Gerard snapped. "If you'd kept your filthy-" He kicked Stiles while the scribe was still catching his breath and knocked him back against the stairs. "-deceitful-" Another kick. Stiles tried to block it, but it just felt like his recently healed fingers were about to snap from the pressure and didn't soften the blow much at all. "-revolting hands to yourself!"

"Wait," Stiles gasped, cradling his hands together as they throbbed.

"I will not." The Earl threw an actual punch straight to Stiles' cheek. Usually he avoided this to save his own hands, but he was truly furious now. "You made a fool of me under my own roof! I'll see what that foolish young lord will do when I send him your corpse! Maybe then he'll realize he's not any better than my family, not now and definitely not when his father finally croaks, which should be soon if I've heard right."

Kate actually chuckled and looked far too pleased for the moment. The dark thought that had entered Stiles' mind in the library came rushing back. Had she done something to Earl Beacon, to Derek's father?

"What did you do?" he croaked, his whole torso aching.

" _I_ didn't do anything," Kate said, too smug, and he knew she was lying.

"Why you-"

Stiles tried to push himself off the stairs, but Gerard shoved him back down. Stiles let out an involuntary whimper when his back smashed into the wood.

"You do _not_ speak to my daughter in that manner," the old man sneered. Kate preened with pride. In her arms, Allison struggled to pull away.

"Grandfather! Please-"

"Or what?" Stiles growled, pushing himself up again. He was being beaten regardless, so he might as well say what was on his mind. "You wouldn't have ever gotten your dirty claws into the Hale family, whether or not I was here. Derek knows better than to associate himself with the grime of your _daughter_. Even you said she's too wild-"

Gerard was on him, hand over his mouth in a grip so tight that his teeth ached. Gerard's other hand snatched up Stiles' wrist so that he had one less hand to defend himself with, though Stiles still attempted to pull himself free with his non-dominant hand.

"Do not attempt to tell me my own thoughts, boy," the old man growled. "I don't care what my daughter has done. She's an Argent, and that makes her above the reproach of someone like you." He sneered, as though the sight of Stiles was making him ill. He raised his voice to Kate. "Take Allison away."

"What? No!" Allison was squirming so hard that Kate had to fight just to hold onto her. The older woman nodded, though she looked displeased at the idea, and began to jerkily drag her niece away. "No! Grandfather, please wait. Think about what you're doing!"

Gerard held Stiles in place as Allison's calls became fainter, and then a door clicked shut down the hall and her voice became a distant muffle. When they were alone in the hall, Gerard smirked.

"Do you believe I ever make empty threats, Stiles?" he asked. Stiles couldn't answer through the grip on his mouth, but his mind raced, trying to remember what threat Gerard had made. He could think of only one thing that was even slightly a threat, and he tried to shout out, but his cheeks were being squeezed too tightly. Gerard's smile could only be called sadistic. "Yes, that's right. I will not let my family be made a fool of, by a scribe or by an Earl. Derek Hale will know that when he receives each one of your fingers in separate boxes."

Stiles couldn't free his trapped hand and he couldn't pry the old man's fingers off his face. Heart hammering, mind panicking, he did the only thing he could – he lashed out with a foot. Gerard jumped back to dodge it, freeing Stiles' face. How was this old man so spry?

"Oh, ho! Got some spirit left in you, eh boy?"

Stiles scrambled back and tried to run up the stairs, but Gerard caught his ankle. Jerked back, Stiles missed the next step and slammed down into the steps, his chin hitting hard and sending sparks flaring behind his eyelids. Luckily he didn't bite his tongue, but it was close. Brain still clouded by the pain of the impact, Stiles didn't try to look or think about his next backward kick. He caught Gerard in the wrist, freeing himself once more, but he was too disorientated to get very far. His attempt to go up the stairs turned into a stumble into the railing, and he could hear Gerard laughing behind him.

"Get your ass back here, you pathetic good-for-nothing."

Somewhere down the hall, Allison was still calling out. No. That wasn't Allison. That was his own voice. He called for help, but his voice sounded distant in his own ears. His head's impact must have jostled something, and he couldn't hear anything properly. Gerard was pulling him back down again, laying him out on the bottom floor in a flimsy heap. When the kicking started, Stiles tried to curl up to protect his stomach, tried to cover his head to protect that too, but he felt sluggish and couldn't keep up with the blows. He tried to swipe back, but he couldn't see straight, and caught air as often as he clipped Gerard.

Derek, he thought. Someone needed to warn Derek! Kate had poisoned his father somehow. What if she tried to poison Derek next?! Tears stung his eyes, ripped from him by the pain. Someone needed to tell Derek- tell him that Stiles had fought back this time. He hadn't just let Gerard beat him to death. And tell him-

"Tell Derek, I-"

 _Maybe I loved him_.


	16. Chapter 16

The fire.

The fire! It had swallowed up everything! In a matter of moments, everything Stiles had ever loved had been consumed by the flames, their ashes leaping into the sky with the flares. His stupid inventions. His mother's artwork. His father's books. His father's- His father.

Stiles had tried to get inside, to rush back through the halls he'd grown up in, to find his father's study or his bedroom or the library. His father was still inside! But no one would let him go! Three servants held him back, pinned him to the ground, told him it was too late. But it couldn't be too late! His father was still inside!

Stiles spent six weeks in the hospital after they finally managed to wrangle him into submission. They told him to lie on his stomach so they could tend to his back, to the minor burns he'd received from his shirt when it caught fire. He stayed on his stomach, though, only because he could bury his face in the pillows they brought him and muffle the sound of his screaming.

That was the first rumor. Did you hear? The Stilinski boy? They say he screams himself raw every night. Poor child. He must be in so much pain. Do you think he'll be very disfigured?

But they were wrong. His back was on fire, but they said it would pass and they could heal him with little scarring. Anyway, he could handle the pain. No, he screamed because his heart couldn't handle the ache any other way. His father, his last remaining family, had burned alive. Stiles hadn't been able to save him. The loss hurt ten times worse than the burns on his back.

He cried and screamed into his pillow every night until it tore up his throat, and then he went silent. For the first time in his entire life, Stiles had stopped talking. A whole week passed that way, with no one able to rouse him to conversation. He felt numb, and more than once, he'd wished they would stop treating him. Let his back become infected. Let him die with his father.

Then Allison showed up at his bedside. She'd come to visit her aunt, who'd been injured in a carriage accident, and had heard about him. They vaguely knew each other, having spent seasons in each other's counties and meeting at parties, but they would not be considered friends.

She visited him every day while her aunt was under observation, telling him news and gossip – but never about him. After a few days, Stiles stared up at her and asked her how long she planned to keep visiting. Though it was rude, it was words, and Allison took it as encouragement. Stiles liked her strength and confidence, her humility and caring nature. By the end of his stay at the hospital, he liked everything about her.

On the day of his release, Stiles met Allison at the door, surprising her. But she wasn't the only one surprised. Allison had brought her aunt. Lady Katherine Argent greeted him smoothly and gave her trite condolences. Then, with very little concern for Stiles' feelings, she expressed an awkward apology for Stiles losing his father's title. It wasn't Stiles' fault that the title fell to Kate instead. It was just business. And, ever prepared, she brandished the document showing her claim to the title and all the lands it controlled. Lord Stilinski had fallen into debt with Lady Katherine, and she claimed it was such an amount that he'd had to offer up his title in exchange. If Stiles could pay off the debt, she may even consider returning his title.

Therein laid the source of the second rumor. The Stilinski boy? He attacked a woman in the hospital. He broke several machines. His temper is out of control!

But Stiles knew the truth. If any of those gossiping whelps had been faced with their livelihoods being stripped away from them, they would have thrown a fit as well. And the only thing Stiles broke was the crutch Kate had been using at the time. In the rumors, she always seemed to be such a victim, but Stiles knew the truth. She'd walked out of that hospital smirking.

Homeless and penniless, Stiles found himself with few options. He could join the military or learn a labor, but he disliked the idea of either. He wasn't built for heavy lifting, and he was too snarky to be a good soldier. But Kate had an idea. Of course she did. He could work for the Argents, for her specifically. Being a scribe was honorable work, and he could enjoy at least half of the life he'd once enjoyed.

Looking back, Stiles wondered if he'd have taken the job if he'd known the true nature of Kate and her father. But at the time, he saw only a chance to live with Allison and not become a militiaman. Sure, he already hated Kate, but living with his new best friend would be a good transition, right?

The final rumor about him grew from an incident less than a month into his tenure as scribe. Just after he'd received his certification and official pin, he'd gone to the theater with Allison. Despite not liking his new job, he was still proud of being officially recognized and they were celebrating.

Someone started the whispers before the play began, and they grew and spread until Stiles couldn't help but overhear. They were all wondering what the truth was. What happened to Noah Stilinski? Were the rumors about Stiles true? Someone ask him what started the fire. Someone ask him if we can see his back. Someone ask him-

The world had gone fuzzy for Stiles, and he felt increasingly dizzy and short of breath. Allison tried to move him to a more private location, but he could barely keep his feet under him. The panic overtook him as images of his father filled his mind and the sounds of screams and fire clouded his ears.

He came back to himself sometime later, Allison still crouched beside him where he'd fallen to the floor. Most patrons had moved into the main theater to watch the play, but a few lingered, whispering in concern. When he saw them staring, something in Stiles snapped. He shouted at them to mind their own business, to stop judging him, to just leave him alone! Then he'd run from the building, run all the way back to the Argent manor, and locked himself in his room.

Did you hear? The Stilinski boy had a nervous breakdown at the theater. He's not well in the head. He lashed out and insulted several high class families. Disgraceful. Uncouth. Inconceivable behavior! What an embarrassment to his father.

So Stiles stopped going out. He didn't go into town much, and when he did he dressed as plain as he could so he wouldn't draw the eye. He secluded himself in the Argent house, bearing all the abuse in relative silence, so he wouldn't be the subject of any more gossip. Now the only thing people could whisper about was wondering what had happened to him. Where had he gone? But at least those curious questions didn't bring shame on his family name.

But he was tired of bearing it. He was tired of being suffocated by the smoke of a fire that had burned out years ago. He wanted to let it go… but they wouldn't let him. The Argents would never let him forget or move on. He'd be stuck in his loop forever, a loop where he was no one but a failure and a disgrace.

He wanted to tell Derek everything. Despite his words about not wanting to be a burden, not wanting to be rescued, he really wanted Derek to help him. Selfishly, he wanted to use Derek Hale to pull himself out of his hole. He wanted Derek to offer him a hand, wanted Derek to pull him to safety and wrap his arms around him and tell him everything was alright. He wanted Derek, or someone, anyone, to tell him he was allowed to let go now.

He was just so tired. So tired. And he couldn't breathe.

He couldn't breathe! The smoke was so thick and he couldn't see! He couldn't breathe- Someone- Someone-

"Breathe," a woman's voice urged him. "Come on, now. That's it. I know it hurts, but just try to focus on breathing, Stiles. You're alright now."

Everything did not _feel_ alright. It felt like his body was on fire all over again, but not in the same way. This pain went all the way to his bones. He cried and didn't feel it. He whimpered and didn't register the movement. Everything just ached.

"That's it. In… Out… In… Out…"

He didn't recognize the woman's voice. Was he dead? Was she an angel?

"Melissa." That voice he knew, and Stiles whimpered again. Lord Argent hummed. "Listen. There's something you should know about Stiles."

The voices sounded far away and distorted, and he wasn't sure if he was dreaming or eavesdropping or neither. His head pounded and swam, and he tried to focus on simple breathing again. Was Lord Argent still around? Had he come to finish what his father had started? Stiles wouldn't be able to put up a fight this time.

"Stiles. Can you open your eyes?" The woman's sweet voice returned, pulling his thoughts from the void to focus on her.

He used all his strength to try opening his eyes, but everything remained black, so he assumed he'd failed. The woman wasn't speaking, probably waiting for him to comply, but he couldn't. He ached in every possible way, and he just wanted to sleep forever, or at least until the pain went away.

"Stiles?"

"mm-urts," he managed.

"Okay." The woman was so comforting. Her voice was tender, and he could feel her hand gently petting his hair. "Okay. Don't strain yourself. Everything is going to be alright. I'm not going to let anyone harm you anymore. Just… sleep. The doctor will be here soon."

Stiles hummed. "Thanks, Mom."

He wasn't sure how he said it at all, what with the pain in his jaw and _everywhere_. Her petting reminded him of when he was a child, and her voice reminded him of his mother, and suddenly he was imagining himself lying on the couch, his head in his mother's lap after some older boys had picked on him. She was assuring him that he had done nothing wrong, but they both knew he'd started the fight.

'You always put up such a fuss,' she was saying, fondness in her voice despite the negativity of the words. 'Why do you always fight?'

'People are mean. Someone has to stand up against the mean kids, Mom. Someone has to remind them that we're all the same when you take away the money. You can't treat people bad and get away with it.'

She hummed thoughtfully, never stopping her fingers as they carded through his hair.

'Then why did you stop fighting?' she asked, fondness fading into sadness. 'Your father and I never wanted you to stop fighting.'

Stretched out on the couch, Stiles groaned. 'But everything aches now, and I'm too afraid to fight alone.'

The sun was shining just beyond his mother's head, so that when he turned his gaze up to see her, her face was obscured by the light. He squinted and tried to block the sun with his hand.

'You're never alone, Stiles,' she murmured. 'I am so proud of you and the man you've become, but I will never forgive you if you stop fighting now.' She placed a hand on his shoulder and gently shook him. 'Fight, Stiles.' She shook him again, rougher. 'Fight!'

He awoke with a start. Gasping, he tried to look around, but his head was secured in place. His heart sped, thoughts still on his dead mother, on the fact that he'd been speaking to his _dead mother_. But now he was in an unfamiliar room, with unfamiliar furnishings, and an unfamiliar doctor staring down at him.

"Good. You're awake." The man made an approving sound. "Yes. You're through the worst of it, I think. Not to say that the healing process won't be painful, but at least you've finally regained full consciousness. So long as you don't relapse, I believe you'll make a near-full recovery."

Stiles tried to ask four questions at once, but all that came out of his mouth was a dry, confused sound that was very close to a wheeze. An unfamiliar woman spoke, drawing Stiles' attention to the fact that she was even present at all. He'd heard her voice before, telling him to breathe, but he didn't know her.

"Thank you, Dr. Deaton." She and the doctor clasped hands.

"My skills are always at your disposal, Lady McCall," he said. His eyes drifted back to Stiles and he released Lady McCall's hands. "I can see you have questions. Let me see if I can answer them. You are in a hospital in County Posey. Yes, quite far from where you began in Gévaudan, I know. Lady McCall here brought you in with the help of a Mister- excuse me, a Lord Argent. You're in rather a rough shape, but as I said, I believe you'll make a smooth recovery. You're going to be very tired for several weeks. This is normal for a body that needs to heal as much as yours does. When you are stable, Lady McCall has offered to take you into her home, where you will reside for the remainder of your recovery."

McCall. Lady McCall inherited a title from her late husband, but it passed to her son when he came of age. Baron Posey's name is Scott McCall.

The drilled in information came to him easily now that he'd refreshed himself with Allison, but his mind still felt cloudy to the point that he wasn't sure why he needed the information now that he'd recalled it.

"You'll be safe at my house," Lady McCall assured him, kneeling beside his bed and taking his hand in hers. He focused on the point of contact, unsure if it hurt or not. "I promise you that, Stiles. No one will hurt you in my house. You can… I hope you can be happy there." She smiled, but it was tight and wary. "I have a son your age. I think you'll like him. I know he'll like _you_ very much."

He didn't know this woman. He didn't know how he came to be in her care. But she made him feel welcome, and she was warm. He loved her dark curls, her warm skin, her kind eyes. He squeezed her hand, which seemed to make her happy.

"Thank you," he murmured, though he wasn't super clear what exactly he was thanking her for. He had a lot of half-thoughts, but it was hard to hold onto any of them.

"Of course," she murmured right back. "You can rest now, Stiles. I'll be here when you wake up. I promise."

He slept, and he did not dream about his old life or how it fell apart. He dreamt about nonsense things, and his skin didn't burn and his lungs didn't seize, and for a short time he was blissful and unconscious. It would be a few hours before the pain woke him up again.


	17. Chapter 17

The doctor hadn't lied. Stiles slept more often than he was conscious. It was beyond frustrating, because it meant Stiles lost track of time and no longer knew what day it was. He knew, at first, that Lady McCall was there to smile at him whenever he opened his eyes, just as she'd promised she would be. Then, some unknown time later, she was gone.

In her place was a young man. He was undeniably handsome, with short black hair and a dark caramel skin tone. He did not immediately notice Stiles was awake, which gave Stiles enough time to notice that his jaw line was slightly uneven. His dark eyes were focused on a book, but they flickered to Stiles for a brief moment, and then all of the young man's attention was on Stiles.

He grinned. "Hey there," he said. "Sorry. My mother had some work to do, but I offered to take her place. I'm Scott McCall. Er. I mean." He flushed slightly and tried to refocus. "I am Lord McCall, Baron Posey. Gosh, that's a mouthful. But you can call me Scott."

"Okay."

It was tough saying anything, and Stiles coughed afterward. Scott was there in an instant, offering him water. Without words, the Baron helped Stiles to drink and then to eat a few pieces of food that had been left beside him on the table. Stiles had been hurt before, but he'd never felt this weak, this helpless. He was being surprisingly pathetic.

"What happened?" he asked when the food was gone.

Scott frowned. "You mean…"

"With… with the Argents." How had he gotten here? How bad were his injuries? He was so wrapped up that he didn't know where one injury ended and another began.

"Lord Argent-… no. Wait. I think I'll need to go back before that. Um. You were beaten by Earl Gévaudan. You're… I can't lie to you. You look terrible. Dr. Deaton says you've fractured a rib or two, some other kind of broken bones I think, and he had to give you a transfusion of blood when you arrived because you'd been bleeding so much. I'm not really good at the medical side of things. My mother is, though. She's kind of amazing. But anyway, I guess Lord Argent must have stopped his father, or else come upon you just as the beating ended. He rushed you to the hospital in Gévaudan, then soon after rushed you here. He was only waiting on word from my mother before he moved you again. They've been corresponding for awhile now."

"Lord Argent… saved me?" The man who almost never looked or spoke to him had saved his life? But then Stiles remembered hearing Lord Argent telling Lady McCall something about him – 'There's something you should know about Stiles,' he'd said. What pitiable thing had he told her? She looked at him with such fond sadness that Stiles was sure she'd heard all about poor, abused Stiles Stilinski.

"Yes. I don't believe even his father knows where you've been taken." Scott smiled, as though he were recounting something heroic. "You've been hidden away, my friend. It's only my mother, myself, and Dr. Deaton who know where you are now. And Lord Argent, of course."

"Well that's good at least," Stiles grunted. He tried to roll over but it hurt too much, and he was forced to stay on his back. "How… How long has it been?"

"Hm?" Scott pursed his lips and then shrugged. "A week, maybe?"

A week.

Stiles suddenly pushed himself up, gritting his teeth against the pain. Scott jumped up too, reaching out to try and support Stiles or push him back down – it seemed even he wasn't sure which was preferable.

"What's wrong?" he asked. "You- You should be lying down."

"How is Earl Beacon?" Stiles asked, panting through the pain. "He was- Ugh. He was ill. How is he now?"

"Earl Beacon?" Scott's face scrunched up in confusion. "He's fine. He had some kind of flu, but he's fine now."

"And his children?"

"Um. I believe his eldest daughter visited with her husband and child when they heard he was sick, but I don't know if they're still there. I suppose his youngest is still employed by the Duchess of Roden. And his sons were both with him during the illness. But they're all in fine health, if that's what you're asking. Are you alright?"

Stiles relaxed and tried to gently lay himself back down. It was only with Scott's help that he succeeded. Derek had not been poisoned, and his father was alive. Some good news, at last.

"I- Sorry." Stiles took a heavy breath and noted every point of pressure it caused in his chest. "I know the eldest Lord Hale. He'd just gone home to see his father when-"

"I understand." Scott smiled at him. "I worry about my friends all the time."

"That's… nice." Stiles winced at his choice of words. He could tell Scott was trying to be friendly and kind, but Stiles was too distracted by everything and he knew that Scott didn't truly understand. Scott could only understand if he knew about Stiles' secret relationship with Derek, and he doubted very much that he did.

"I hope," Scott continued in an unsure tone, "that you and I can be friends too?"

He was so earnest, and he had the same kind eyes as his mother. Stiles couldn't have fought against that kind of request even if he'd had the full use of all his limbs. Without meaning to, he cracked a smile and then looked away in embarrassment.

"Yeah, alright," he said, trying to play it off. "You seem like a good enough man."

"Great!" Never before had any person looked more like an excited puppy than this man, this _Baron_ sitting beside him. It was downright adorable and would have totally pissed off Earl Argent. Stiles decided he liked it immensely.

* * *

The hospital was quiet and boring, but whenever Stiles was awake he could be sure of something interesting happening eventually. Baron Posey was the most unconventional lord Stiles had ever met. He would come sliding into the room after a sprint if he thought for even a second that Stiles might have been awake and alone. He often brought books and read them aloud to Stiles. They were amusing tales, but sometimes Stiles suspected Scott of embellishing them to make them even more hysterical. He didn't call him on it or complain. Those stories were some of his favorite moments of consciousness.

Other times, Scott brought animals in with him – all kinds of them. Normally a dog or a cat, but he once brought in a pig! He had a fondness for the raising and caring of animals, and admitted to having once snuck a ferret into a crowded opera house when it was young and ill and needed semi-constant supervision. How he hadn't been caught was a miracle. If it had been Stiles, the ferret would have gotten loose, scared half a dozen people, and probably hidden down some poor woman's cleavage for the body heat. His father would have been scandalized and yet unsurprised.

After a second week in the hospital, Dr. Deaton allowed Stiles to be removed from his secluded ward and transported to the McCall Manor. To his credit, Stiles took the first steps over the threshold without assistance, but it was mostly from pure stubbornness. He needed help almost immediately afterward. One of the damages Earl Argent had left him with was a fractured lower leg. Not as serious as a broken bone, but still a bitch to put pressure on, and he really shouldn't have been walking on it at all.

Dr. Deaton left Stiles with a wheelchair and medications stronger than the ones he'd used for his broken fingers. He wanted crutches, but Dr. Deaton argued that the stress placed on the rest of his body wasn't in his best interest. Besides his fractured leg, he'd also bruised several ribs (luckily though, none broken), and most of his upper body had been covered in purple and yellow blotches. Deaton couldn't be positive that nothing else was broken or misaligned until the bruising went down, so they had to play it safe. Stiles also had a black eye and broken nose from the incident, but both had generally healed by the time he arrived at his new place of residence.

The largest concern for Dr. Deaton was the head wound. All the kicking and sliding around Stiles had done had caused Stiles' head to collide several times with the stairs. One, he remembered – when he'd fallen forward and clacked his teeth so hard together that he'd actually been sent reeling. But the doctor assured him that the back of his head must have come into contact with the bottom stair at least twice, or else really hard once.

Although the damage didn't seem to have affected his memory or personality at all, everyone was advised to be on the lookout for dizziness or fainting spells, and Dr. Deaton warned that temporary memory loss was still a possibility. Stiles wasn't concerned about any of it, really. He was mostly immobile, so how could dizziness or fainting be a concern? And if he hadn't lost memory already, what more could happen?

Being pushed around in a chair at first sounded demeaning, but there again Scott defied the norm. Excited to show Stiles around, they got Stiles into the chair and then Scott pushed him around at speeds that could hardly be called safe. In long, straight halls, Scott would push off the floor and stand on the back of the chair so that they flew down the hall and more than once almost tipped over.

Lady McCall made sure all of their meals were easy on the stomach so that Stiles' healing body didn't reject the nourishment, and once an hour a servant magically appeared to offer Stiles a glass of water. At first it was cool, but it quickly became annoying. Stiles took the cups anyway because he knew Lady McCall was coming from a place of love and was trying to help his healing process, but he was rather sick of water after just three days.

Now that Stiles could move without being in extreme pain, he and Scott did most things together. They wandered the halls, they took turns telling terrible jokes, they pranked the staff. Over and over, Scott proved himself to be the most unconventional noble ever.

Sometimes, though, Scott had to be a serious noble. Once a day, Scott disappeared into a study to read over new reports delivered by the morning post. Sometimes his mother joined him and they used their combined experience to sort out the problems of their allotted lands.

The Posey lands were on the outskirts of Gévaudan, separate but close enough to make Stiles' skin crawl. The only way Earl Gévaudan and his daughter didn't know where Stiles was being housed was the willful ignorance of Lord Argent. If he'd gotten Stiles to safety, then it was only him standing between Earl Argent and Stiles ending up in a body bag. For the first time in their acquaintance, Stiles was extremely glad to know Chris Argent and wished he could thank the man personally.

Fainting, it turned out, was an actual concern. On their sixth flight down the longest hall in the estate, Stiles got a head rush, and the next thing he knew, he was on the floor with Scott over him and panicking. He'd been convinced he'd killed his new friend in his first week at the house. Dr. Deaton was summoned, but Stiles checked out fine. They were banned from speeding around the house at that point. Sad.

They amused themselves in less invigorating ways. Like reading. Or petting cats.

The McCall manor was home to an impressive library, though not as grand as the one at the Argent estate. Their selection of books was a bit different, though, so Stiles had plenty of new material to choose from. Unfortunately, many volumes were written in Spanish. This was great for Scott, but not so much for Stiles, who only spoke and read English… and very bad Latin.

They read a lot, as it was a low-stress activity, and if they got bored they would make fun of the books they were reading. Stiles realized that in a few short days, Scott had become one of his best friends. He was joking with the Baron in ways he couldn't joke with Allison, with anyone. It almost made him feel like he wasn't mostly on bed rest, because he was always doing something with Scott.

On the first Friday after his arrival, Stiles was sitting alone in the library. He'd been deposited there by Scott before the Baron had to scurry away to do Baron-y things, but Stiles was more than fine to read on his own. He'd have some funny material for when Scott joined him later.

The novel he was reading was actually rather good, but he kept getting distracted. The main character was falling in love with a man that very much sounded like Derek Hale, and it definitely didn't slip past Stiles' notice. After awhile, he actually had to put the book down for a breather.

"Damn," he murmured, looking around the library and then out of the window at the bushes.

There was a sudden spike of pain in his head and he shielded his eyes from the light of the window, which was frighteningly bright. It felt a lot like someone was stabbing him in the temple with a skinny needle, and he cried out without conscious thought. His mind filled with visions of Earl Argent, as though that madman were the one inflicting his current pain and laughing about it.

When the pain eased, he found himself curled up against the chair he'd previously been sitting in, only now he was on the floor. He was shaking and panting and, by the feel of it, sweating more than he'd like. One hand was gripping his face, his fingertips pressing against his temples. The other hand was held in a warm, strong hand.

Instantly, his mind flashed to Derek, to the way he'd grabbed Stiles' wrist to pull him from a panic attack, and he wondered if the same thing had happened here. His heart swelled and he ripped his free hand from his face.

"Derek?" he asked, too quick to realize his mistake.

It was Scott sitting beside him, his forehead knit in deep concern. His mouth was pressed in a thin line. "Scott," he answered softly. "Are you alright? Do you know where you are?"

Disappointment crushed Stiles, but he tried not to show it. "Yeah?... Yeah. Sorry. I- I don't know what happened. I'm fine now."

Though the Baron didn't look like he believed that for a second, he did release Stiles' hand and help him back into the chair without comment. He let Stiles go back to reading as though nothing had happened and took up a spot of his own in a neighboring chair. Stiles could feel the baron's eyes on him every few moments, and it made it impossible to keep reading.

He continued the pretense, however, until the dinner bell was rung and they were drawn down the hall to eat.

Dinner was edging on normal, with Lady McCall loosening up about what Stiles could and could not eat at this stage in his recovery. Scott delicately brought up Stiles' issue in the library, and Lady McCall knelt by Stiles to check his pupil reaction when she covered one eye and then rapidly removed the cover. She also had him feeling stupid by making his fingertips touch and bringing his pointer finger to his nose.

"I think he's alright," she said after a moment. "I can call on Dr. Deaton in the morning, but I'm sure he'll say the same thing. You're still healing from some rather traumatic injuries. There's bound to be a few setbacks, some side effects."

Stiles inwardly argued the word 'setbacks' but outwardly kept quiet. He wanted to ask a favor and didn't want to ruin the mood by being petulant. Once Lady McCall was back in her seat and the next course was being brought out, Stiles hazarded his request.

"Could I borrow some paper and ink? I'd like to… I have a letter I'd like to send out," he said. He wanted to let Derek know where he was and that he was alright. He wanted Derek to come see him.

Lady McCall smiled. "Of course you can," she said. "You don't need to ask. Consider our home yours. Would you like to use our scribe?"

"Liam is a great scribe," Scott said, but it came out in a tone that suggested Liam may not be the world's best scribe. "He's very- He's got flare."

Stiles choked on a laugh. "Thanks, but I'd actually prefer to write this one on my own."

"I'll show you where to find the supplies after dinner," Lady McCall assured him, and she smiled like this was the best request he could have asked for.

It was odd. Stiles wasn't accustomed to being given what he wanted with such an air of open generosity, and part of him really wanted to distrust it. And yet he knew the McCalls to be honest and without a malicious bone in their two bodies combined. Sure he'd only known them for about three weeks, but they'd stayed with him – a total stranger – in the hospital when he could barely stay conscious or feed himself. They'd let him into their home and shared their prosperity. Even though he was more immobile than ever, Stiles hadn't felt this… _free_ in years.

He smiled and tried to hide it behind his hand, but Scott noticed and grinned back. Stiles kicked him under the table with his good leg, but it only made Scott smile wider.


	18. Chapter 18

_Dear Derek,_

 _I don't know if you've heard about my leaving the Argent's. I'd hope you'd know – that you came back to see me or that Allison wrote to you, but I know that sometimes life can get in the way of information being conveyed. I won't bore you with the grim details of my departure, but suffice it to say that I don't remember it at all. Lord Christopher Argent is, to my understanding, almost entirely to thank for my recovery, so… you know, there's that surprise._

 _I am currently living with a lovely family on the edge of Gévaudan. You may have heard of them – the McCalls. Baron Posey has been a constant and true friend through my recovery, and I think you'd like him too, although your personalities are extremely different. He's sort of bubbly underneath the surface, like a dog that's itching to go outside. Whereas you're more like the dog that's ready to come in and rest for awhile. Understand that I love you and your tired dog ways, so that isn't an insult._

 _Oh God, I've just written that I love you. I've just done it again! This whole letter will have to be scrapped! Or I could just send it. It's not like I haven't considered the thought before. I think the positive attitude in this household is infecting me. I'm going to send this letter out without alterations and throw caution to the wind!_

 _I know the life of an Earl-in-training is a busy one, but if you have the time to spare, please come see me. I think that would give me all the energy I'd need to kick this entire situation in the rear and move on with life._

 _Love, (I've written it again!)_

 _Stiles_

The letter went out with the morning post. Now all Stiles could do was wait.

But the next day came and went with no letters. As did the next one, and the next. Three days with no response. Stiles couldn't account for it. Even if Derek was busy, surely he could pen a quick reply. They'd- They'd become almost as intimate as two people could be!

Surely Derek would come see him.

Every day, Stiles wheeled himself to the entryway in preparation for the post, and every day there was no letter for him. He did, however, finally meet the McCall scribe – Liam Dunbar. Liam was a lithe and agile young man who seemed constantly on the fence about whether he needed to run rapidly from the room. It wasn't that he was twitchy or nervous, but Stiles was certain that Liam's mind was always in two places and his body wasn't sure which it needed to be in attendance for.

"Hiyah! I'm Liam, Liam Dunbar. I'm the McCall scribe," the young man said as introduction the first time they met. He didn't have to bend down as far as Scott to shake Stiles' hand properly. "My father is a gentleman, but he has no title. We don't, um, actually have that large of a fortune either. I mean, I wouldn't be here if we did, right? Heh. I mean, that wasn't very nice to my father. He's a great man! He's actually a lot like Lady McCall! They both like helping out at hospitals. My father especially likes helping out wounded soldiers. Oh, God. I'm rambling."

Stiles blinked rapidly at the small but kinetic teen before him. He thought HE talked a lot, but this kid took the cake when he was nervous, didn't he?

"Well, Scott did say you had flare," Stiles managed.

Liam flushed with embarrassment. "Sorry. I'm just nervous, I guess. Scott- I mean, Baron Posey told me about you. I mean, you were a scribe too, right?"

"Yeah," Stiles said slowly, nervously.

"So you probably have more experience than I do. I barely passed the test last year, and I really got lucky when I landed this job. I just can't afford to lose it, you know?" In Liam's eyes, Stiles could see the worry of disappointing a father and the anxiety of letting his family down.

He pushed his wheelchair forward and pat the boy on the arm. "Calm down, kid. You're too young for this kind of anxiety. I'm not here to steal your job."

"Oh? Oh. Of course not." Liam nodded, trying to pretend the thought hadn't crossed his mind. "So then… why _are_ you here?"

Frowning, Stiles stared at the door that refused to produce a letter from Derek. That was a great question, actually. Certainly he'd needed to get out of the Argent household, but he was still indebted to Lady Katherine, and it wasn't like he was versed in any job beyond being a scribe.

"I don't know," he admitted. Then he cleared his throat, trying to banish the heavy thoughts about his future – at least for now. "Let me know if a letter ever arrives from Earl Beacon or any of the Hales, would you? I- I'm going to find something to eat."

And he left the room before he could become more disappointed by the lack of post or more confused about why he was even there.

He found Lady McCall and Scott at the dinner table, though it wasn't time for a meal. A platter of fruit sat between them and each held a large book. As far as Stiles could see, it appeared to be the same book.

"Ah, Stiles. Perfect timing," Lady McCall said with a smile. "Please. Join us at the table. Scott and I are brushing up on the modern peerage."

Stiles did join them, but not because he was particularly interested. Mostly he was after the fruit. He reached forward, stretching far out of his wheelchair, and grabbed a honeydew slice, but Lady McCall gave him an intense look so he dropped it and sat back in his wheelchair. "What?"

"We're still nobility, Stiles, even if we don't rank very high. Don't lean across the table for food. Sit like a gentleman and reach normally." Though it was an order, and a scolding to boot, Stiles didn't feel very scolded. It sounded more like an earnest request.

Sitting with his butt firmly in the chair, Stiles used a small fork to reach forward, nabbed the same piece of honeydew, and earned a smile in return for his efforts. A mother's praise was always awesome, and he ate with pride. "So. Who are we studying?" he asked when his mouth was empty, correctly guessing that Lady McCall would have said something if he'd started any sooner.

"Well, we were looking at the peerage of our own county first, then we were planning to move to the surrounding counties – like Beacon and La Iglesia. Then we'll move up and up until we hit the Queen," Scott explained. He beamed. "Did you hear? The second princess gave birth to her new baby girl."

"Which is what gave us the idea to review. So many families have had recent additions in the last few years. It's important to keep up, and there are plenty to memorize." Lady McCall motioned to the fruit. "Can I bribe you with more honeydew to sit with us and help quiz my son?"

"You can always bribe me with more honeydew, Lady McCall," Stiles assured, nabbing another piece. He held his hands out for Scott's book and then flipped through it when he had his curious hands on it. "How updated are these names?"

"This printing is from last year, unfortunately, but the new one is not due for another two months. That's fine, though, because between myself and Scott, I'm sure we'll remember the two families who gained heirs and the two who got married." Lady McCall smiled at her son in a way that accentuated the lines around her eyes, and her son sent them right back at her. Stiles envied their relationship.

"Alright. Let's do this!" Stiles said like a battle cry.

He spent an hour with the McCalls, going over all the old and new peerage. Despite his best efforts, he too learned new things. Several families had expanded since his last attempt to memorize anyone. He and Allison had only ever gone over the main family information – crests, location, and the like. It was pretty interesting to learn how many children had been born since Stiles held a title, how many people had earned titles or lost fortunes, how many had been disinherited, and how many had married into peerage families.

So much had changed, but by the end of the tutoring session for Scott, Stiles too had figured much of it out. Teaching someone else really had a way of making the teacher learn the information. They celebrated finishing the session with a meal fit for a visiting Earl. They were joined by several of the servants, including Liam. Stiles couldn't remember the last fancy meal he'd had that didn't include a visiting noble of high standard. Even back when he'd lived with his father, they'd saved the larger meals for special events. But the McCalls were treating Stiles to a fanciful meal, as though he were the notable party. They made jokes about the grandeur and laughed whenever Stiles was scolded into better manners. It was a fantastic meal, both the food and the company.

Stiles went to bed stuffed with delicious food and with a heart so full it could burst. And yet his mind flashed to his unanswered letter just before he drifted into sleep, and thus his night was filled with dreams of Derek's hands and their many secret messages.

* * *

Derek continued his silent treatment of Stiles, which was honestly crushing him. Scott did his best to distract his new friend every day, but every lull in activity was a chance for Stiles' mind to wander to the absent Earl. Almost Earl. Earl in remainder. Whatever.

Scott liked getting Stiles' opinions on things – it was his favorite way of distracting Stiles. Basically, he took Stiles around with him during his daily duties and asked Stiles to do his job for him.

Stiles would be staring forlornly out a window and hear, "Can you help me pick out where to place the guests at our dinner party next week?" He'd be minding his own business, holding a book and waiting for the wall paint to peel and be met with a, "Stiles, can you help me balance the budget?" This took all of Stiles' attention and most of the day and was generally a terrible thing to ask a friend to help you with, but Stiles did it to keep his brain from having time to mope.

Most of the distractions Scott came up with, however, were the same – go over the submitted requests and concerns of the people. Every morning, the postman delivered letters of concern. These were business disputes, requests for loans, and property assessments mostly. Major changes had to be cleared through the Baron, and the Baron was the final judge on most disputes. He would also be the one to dip into the bank's coffers to distribute funds for improvements in public buildings and lands. There were usually several letters every morning, which gave Scott several options for distracting Stiles every day.

Still, there was only so much time Scott could fill. He couldn't bring Stiles everywhere, because Stiles was still in a wheelchair and easily exhausted. He couldn't let Stiles do his whole job either, as that wouldn't be very honest of him. So Stiles still found himself with several hours each day to sit or lie about and wonder why the man he probably loved wasn't writing back to him.

Not that it stopped Stiles from writing his own letters.

After the initial two day period of silence, Stiles had written a new letter. Perhaps his first one had gotten lost on the way, he'd thought. But the second one went unanswered as well. After that, Stiles wrote a new letter every other day. He often began it the same – asking Derek why he didn't write and reminding him that he was allowed to visit – and he soon realized that he sounded disgustingly like Lady Katherine Argent.

But it was different. Right? Derek didn't like Kate but he liked Stiles. Right? But then… why wasn't he writing back?

He continued to write the letters for two weeks, sending out seven follow-up messages to his original posting. Not one received a response – not even from a disgruntled servant or relative or postal worker.

After two weeks, Stiles stopped writing. He sat at the scribe's desk in the McCall manor and stared at a blank sheet of paper and wondered what he'd done wrong. Everything with Derek had felt so right, so wrong but so perfect. He'd enjoyed every moment of it, and he'd thought Derek had too. Derek had made promises to him – to rescue him and protect him. He'd kissed Stiles so passionately and touched him so tenderly. It had felt so real. And yet Stiles was sitting in this room alone, facing the silent judgment of a man he'd thought he knew.

Stuck in the wheelchair, Stiles couldn't pace, but his leg bounced in place. He'd trusted Derek. He'd told Derek his real last name. Derek would know everything about him now. He would have heard all the rumors, found out all about the money the Stilinski's owed to the Argents. Had it been such a large amount that Derek was ashamed to have offered to pay it? Surely he should know Stiles didn't expect him to. Surely he knew Stiles better than that.

Stiles had trusted him. Why didn't Derek trust him back?!

Growling angrily, Stiles slammed his hand down on the papers and flung them from the table. Light as feathers, they fluttered gently and uselessly to the floor. He'd wanted to hear the crash, so this was annoying, but at least they had scattered into an unappealing mess. He growled again and ran his hands through his hair.

He didn't understand, and that confusion made him angry. Why? He wanted to scream. Why had the fire started? Why had Kate been so eager for him to work for her? Why had the Argents abused him so forcefully and so often when they rarely abused the other servants? Why had Derek taken such an interest in him to begin with? Why start a romantic tryst with no intention to see it through or at least to end it? Why had the McCalls so eagerly let a stranger like him into their lives? Was it all a ploy somehow? Why wasn't Derek writing back?

The amazing thing about being in a downward spiral is that everything, every thought, casts a shadow. In the silence of the study, Stiles felt the truths of his life blur into uncertain shapes, and he didn't feel safe anywhere in the world. He tugged on his hair and bounced his good leg and tried to breathe normal. The swirling emotions in him did not feel like a panic attack, but they gave off a ghostly sibling feeling akin to hopelessness. Everything felt like some demented extension of the abuse he'd experienced for the past five years, and he couldn't logic his way back to solid ground.

Before he understood what was happening, he'd begun to weep. Hiccups shook him, and he couldn't get a solid breath. For the first time in five years, he openly cried. It felt like he'd reached some kind of precipice, some turning point in his life. He couldn't hold onto anything he'd known – not his profession, not the place he'd lived, not the people he'd known and worked with, and now he couldn't even hold on to the person he'd loved.

Letting go was murder, but he'd fought for possession for two weeks and gained no ground. It was time to let his fingers slide off. The ache tore at him, and he couldn't stop the tears. Several minutes passed in the stuttered rhythm of his sobs before he started to regain control.

He was dizzy and drained in the aftermath and cursed himself for crying at all. What use was crying over Derek Hale anyhow? It wouldn't magically bring a letter to the door. Slowly, he rolled himself back to his room, sloppily pulled himself onto the bed, and laid there in silence.

What use was there in crying now, when his fortunes had taken such a positive turn? He was away from the abusive household of Gerard Argent. He was in a room easily three times the size of his previous one, with furniture that wasn't broken or flaking or speckled with his blood. He was eating better meals than many he'd had at the Argent Estate. And he was receiving the best medical care he'd experienced since the intensive care he'd needed after the fire.

He closed his eyes, prepared for sleep to overtake him despite the midday sun out the window. He was tired and sore and just wanted to nap in this gorgeous bedroom in this generous house in this peaceful county.

Why waste time crying over Derek Hale?

* * *

At the end of his initial recovery period, Stiles was reexamined and declared fit to use crutches. Dr. Deaton could find no signs of further internal trauma. Without the encumbrance of a wheelchair, Scott was able to take Stiles outside to see his animals.

And WOW did he have animals.

Stiles had been in the McCall estate for a month, but no view from the windows had prepared him for the menagerie outside. Scott had horses, enough for five people to ride together, but that was far from the extent. Scott had three old mares, too old to produce foals and probably too old to be ridden very much by the looks of them. He had a large, fenced in area for old dogs as well, of which he had a good dozen. Though most seemed to be going blind or were missing a limb, they all barked with excitement and came to greet Scott when the two men came to visit.

Despite their disabilities, they all attempted to play fetch as well, which was the truly surprising bit for Stiles. One sort of tripped over itself because it only had one front leg, but it still ran after that ball like a puppy.

There was a pen with the pig Scott had brought to visit in the hospital, along with its lovely mate, and a large chicken coop attached on the side. A special, shaded cage was home to the notorious ferret of Scott's slightly younger days, and its extended ferret family. A nearby cage housed a few rodent-like animals, including rabbits and hamsters.

"Brother, what do you _not_ own?" Stiles asked as Scott pulled a docile little bunny out to say hi.

"Plenty, I'm sure. But most of these animals are rescues, or the offspring of rescues," Scott explained. He scratched behind the rabbit's ears and its little nose went crazy with happiness. "When I was little, I saw this dog chained up outside one of our resident's homes. It was underfed and developing mange. I asked to take the animal off their hands. My dad originally said no, but mom convinced him, and the family agreed. We nursed him back to health, and that's him, the old gray one in the middle there."

He pointed back toward the dogs, where the old dog in question was laid out in the sun, happy as a clam in the midst of the other excited dogs.

"It sort of started there. My mother is interested in fixing people, and I'm interested in fixing animals. And people, I suppose, but animals I think are easier. There's no chance an animal can hate you for trying to help it." He set the rabbit back in its cage and closed the latch. "But like I said, almost all of these are animals I've rescued across the county from neglectful homes."

"A pet's true hero," Stiles joked. "But honestly, how do you afford the upkeep? It must cost a small fortune to feed them, and then you have to pay the people who care for them while you work."

"Actually, a lot of people hear what I'm doing and donate food. And all the people caring for them are volunteers." Scott waved to a woman across the way who was in the middle of giving a dog a bath. She waved back and the dog got excited, knocking over the bucket of soapy water. Scott winced and waved again, this time apologetically. The woman didn't seem too upset, though.

"Are the cats rescued too?" Stiles asked, motioning around at the lazy balls of fur that rested around the yard and on top of fences and cages.

Scott laughed at that. "No. These are all strays that just wandered in for the food and the attention." He reached up to pet one nearby. It jerked away suspiciously at first but then let him reach forward to pet it gently for a few seconds. "The only cat here on purpose is Luna inside, and you've already met her. La luna negra."

"Yeah, who names a black cat after the moon?" Stiles asked as they made their way back toward the house.

"Oh, come on, Stiles! The moon appears in a black sky! Besides, it was better than naming her 'Blackie'," Scott said with a laugh.

"Very true."

As soon as they were back inside, Lady McCall cornered them. "Aha! There you two are."

"Um. Yes, mother?" Scott asked, concern and wariness mixing in his voice.

"I have a tailor here who needs to measure the both of you." She held up her hand when Stiles began to protest. "None of that, Sir. My son and I have plans for an outing next week, and I will not let you stay home to sulk by yourself. You will come out with us. No arguments, understood?"

"But- I- Uh-" Stiles stammered, but Lady McCall's expression only grew more determined with each sound that escaped his lips. Finally, Stiles just sighed. "Yes, Lady McCall."

"Wonderful! Follow me to the sitting room, please."

It had been a long, long, looong time since Stiles had been measured for a suit, but he had not forgotten how arduous the process was. Arms up. Arms down. Don't move. I'm just going to strangle you with this tape measure. No worries. Feet slightly apart, if you don't mind.

It turned out that the tailor wasn't Lady McCall's only plan though. Two days before the proposed outing, a woman arrived to cut Scott's hair, and she got her strong beautician nails into Stiles as well. They were both trimmed on top and their faces professionally shaven. Stiles looked younger than he normally preferred, but he couldn't deny he looked rather handsome. In the new suit and with a new haircut, he looked rather like he had before his father died. In fact, Stiles could pointedly see all the features on himself that were reminiscent of his father – the nose and the arch of the eyebrows. The older he got, the more like his father he became. He wondered if one day he'd look in the mirror and see only his father.

Lady McCall had to ask him three times if he was alright before he heard her over the cotton in his ears. It was only then that he'd noticed he'd started to cry a few soft tears. He quickly wiped the tears away with the handkerchief from the pocket of his new suit. God, he'd never used that silly bit of fabric before, but he didn't want to ruin the fine new suit.

"Thank you," Stiles said when he was back under control. "You really didn't need to spend this kind of money on me. I'm not- I'm just a -"

"You're worth every penny," Lady McCall assured him, hands on his shoulders. "We may have only become acquainted just over a month ago, but trust me, Stiles. No one deserves this fine suit the way you do. You've been through so much you didn't deserve. It's the least I can do for you."

He almost started crying all over again. How strange.


	19. Chapter 19

The theater was as large as the one back in Goodwater, if not larger. Red curtains hung on the walls instead of paper or paint. This muffled the audience and kept the rooms from devolving into an indiscernible cacophony of gibberish. Stiles ran his hand over one of the curtain drapings and almost smiled. He used to love the theater… or theatrics in general. After all, his father hadn't had to apologize constantly about him for no reason. Stiles had been quite a dramatic child.

The McCalls had been in the building for less than five minutes when a man approached Scott and eagerly held out his hand in greeting. Scott took it without hesitation, and they shook.

"Baron Posey! It is such a pleasure to have you in attendance this evening. It's been too long," the man said. Stiles thought he put too much energy into his delivery. The greeting would have been warmer and come across as more genuine if the man had delivered it a bit softer and slower.

"Not that long, Mr. Whittemore. I was here last month." Scott pulled his hand away as respectfully as he could considering the man didn't seem to want to let him go.

"Too long. I thought you'd given up on my theater."

"Not at all. I just had a friend in the hospital, and their wellbeing took most of my attention," Scott explained. It was kind of endearing to hear Scott call him a friend in public, especially when referring to a time before they'd even been properly introduced.

"Ah. Of course." Mr. Whittemore finally took notice of Stiles. His well-practiced smile faltered slightly, but he picked it back up as he returned his attention to Scott. "And this young man with you is…?"

"The friend," Scott said, motioning to Stiles. For the first time since his near-death experience, Stiles was standing without supports. He'd rested his leg as much as possible so that he would be able to walk without the crutches for the evening's event. Nothing would have been more humiliating than hobbling about through the crowd, trying to keep up with Scott and his throngs of admirers. He probably didn't look like someone who'd recently been in the hospital.

Mr. Whittmore extended his over-eager hand to Stiles, though with less intensity than he'd thrust it at Scott. "A pleasure, I'm sure. Mr….?"

The knee-jerk reaction to say his pseudonym caught in Stiles' throat. Something about being out and about with the McCalls made him doubt his own introduction. Would going by a nickname be disrespectful to his hosts? Would not giving a surname embarrass them by association? He didn't want to bring shame of any kind to the McCalls, not after all they'd done for him in the last several weeks.

"Stilinski," he said, and hoped his voice didn't falter on the name as much as it felt like it had. His heart hammered in his chest. It had been so long since… He hoped this man had never heard the rumors and didn't know Stiles' history. He hoped-

"Ah, yes. Good to meet you," Mr. Whittemore said, dropping his hand. It was only then that Stiles realized he'd never accepted the handshake, too caught up in how to introduce himself to notice.

Scott, ever the social savior, cleared his throat to distract the situation. "The show will begin soon," he said. "You should return to your family, Mr. Whittemore, or your son will dislike me even more than normal."

"I'm sure he doesn't," Mr. Whittemore assured, but he said it in such a way that showed very clearly that he knew exactly how his son felt about the Baron. "We all appreciate your patronage." And, using that as an exit statement, Mr. Whittemore bowed to Scott and then hurried off into the dissipating crowd.

Once he was gone, other people took the chance to come and speak with Scott. Most people just bowed and gave a quick thank you to him, while some stopped to make specific requests or give specific compliments. All the talking meant that they arrived at their private box much later than planned, and the show was only a minute away from starting when they took their seats.

"Why does Mr. Whittemore's son not like you?" Stiles asked as they got settled. Everyone in Posey seemed to love Scott, so why did this one man not?

Smiling awkwardly, Scott said, "Ah. I, um. I bested him in the yearly fitness course."

Lady McCall beamed. "Every year, the county fair has an obstacle course for young men and women to show off their fitness levels. Most gain muscle by working labor jobs. Scott gains his working with animals. Young Mr. Jackson Whittemore works out specifically for such events. But despite his efforts, Scott beat him at every turn. They even raced the course, and Scott finished first… three years in a row. Jackson has never forgiven him, and I'm a huge supporter of the rivalry."

Scott groaned. "Mom, it's not a rivalry. I'm not trying to spur him on. I'm just competing for fun."

"I know that. But I still enjoy seeing that boy get so worked up." Lady McCall laughed lightly, but then the lights were snuffed and a hush fell over the theater.

The play began with a flourish and a bang, and it never really slowed down. Stiles hadn't seen such a humorous, action filled performance before, and he found himself glued to the edge of his seat. He and Scott nudged each other several times, but neither looked away from the stage for more than a second to smile at the other.

When the intermission hit, a flood of people rushed for the restrooms, desperate to return to their seats afterward so the play could continue. Stiles and Scott didn't need to pee, so they sat and finally discussed the theatrical in detail. The stellar acting, the great pacing, the realism of the fight sequences – all aspects were up for praise.

Stiles had almost forgotten just how much he loved going to the theater.

A knock sounded on the door to Scott's private box. He beckoned the intruder in and found an usher before him.

"Can I help you?" Scott asked, curious.

"The patron in the top box has requested the presence of your guest, your lordship." The usher bowed low.

Stiles and Scott exchanged a look of confusion. Top box? The only box considered above Scott's was reserved for- They both quickly leaned over the rail of the box and looked across the theater to the best seat in the house. The so named Top Box was reserved for royalty, even if you never expected royalty to appear. Yet there was someone sitting there.

"Should I decline the request, Sirs?" the usher asked after an awkward amount of time had passed.

"What? No. Of course not. Please." Scott motioned for Stiles to follow the man. "Hurry back. I want to know everything."

Stiles would have been the same in Scott's shoes, so he agreed to hurry and then followed the usher out. What member of royalty had descended to a Baron's lands just for a theatrical? Surely the same play could be performed elsewhere, in a busier city with a more diverse populous. Why come to Posey?

Through the crowds of people and around the theater they walked until they came to the door for the top box. The usher knocked, and a voice inside said 'Enter.' The usher cracked the door open but merely held it for Stiles alone to walk through.

Inside were three people – and Stiles gaped when he realized that he knew all of them. Officer Parrish stood on the side and smiled when he saw Stiles.

"It's a pleasure to see you again, Sir," Parrish said, extending his hand.

"Oh!" Stiles stumbled forward to accept the shake. "You as well, Officer Parrish. But uh- not a Sir."

Parrish looked confused but agreed all the same. Across from him, also standing, was the sharp eyed woman from the forest who'd smirked at him. He didn't know her name, but she looked angrier than last time. Sitting between them, in the chair facing the stage, was none other than the Duchess of Roden herself. She too smiled when she saw him. She beckoned for him to take the seat beside her, which of course he did without question.

"Mr. Stiles," the duchess greeted.

"My lady. You remembered my name." And Stiles had thought her so rude on their first meeting.

"Well it is an interesting name," she said, and he got the feeling he was being teased. The duchess motioned to the woman. "Actually, my huntress remembered you better than me. She's the one who noticed you in Baron Posey's box. You remember my huntress, don't you? Lady Cora Hale."

Stiles stood again to bow his head at Lady H-… Lady Hale?

"Lady… Hale?" he asked out loud, raising his eyes to the short woman.

Her dark eyes were green, and her nose was small but distinct. Looking at her now, Stiles realized she looked intensely familiar. His stomach felt hollow in the wake of it. She grimaced.

"That's right. I'd heard about the Argent scribe from my brother back when we met in the forest. At the time I thought you were interesting. Now I'm not sure if I want to slap you or throw you over the railing." Lady Cora certainly looked murderous, and Stiles took a step back from her in shock.

The duchess laughed sourly. "Come now, Cora. I can't exactly be seen condoning murder." She lowered her voice. "If you must kill him, do it outside."

"Excuse me?" Stiles asked, incredulous. "What have I done to deserve being murdered, exactly?"

Lady Cora actually growled, and it was scary how much she sounded like her brother when she made such an animal sound. "Well for starters, everyone already thinks you're dead – including my brother." She stepped up and shoved him, but not hard enough to send him over the rails. "Explain yourself."

He was pretty sure the only reason she wasn't shouting was the crowded auditorium below.

"I- I didn't _die_ ," Stiles pointed out obviously. He frowned hard. "I _almost_ died."

"Wow! What an explanation!" Cora laughed mirthlessly. "My brother got news of your lifeless body being removed from the Argent Estate – and some ruthless servant sent him a gruesome status update about the amount of blood you left all over the floor. If you knew the amount of time he spent burying himself in reports and beating himself up over – I swear I should just kill you for real."

Officer Parrish stepped in then, pushing her back a step to create some space between them.

Stiles frowned. "Like I'd ever believe that," he said with a grunt.

"Excuse me?" Cora growled again.

"I said I don't believe you." Stiles fixed the suit jacket she'd sent off kilter with her shove. "I've mailed your brother eight letters since I regained my faculties. If he says he didn't know I was alive and well, then he's lying to you as well as he did to me."

"My brother doesn't lie."

"Well he lied to me," Stiles snapped, and the ferocity of it seemed to finally surprise Lady Cora. She pressed her lips together and leaned away from him. "He promised he'd come back to see me. I asked him every other day to come visit the McCall Manor, and he ignored me. He said-" Stiles took a deep, slow breath to calm himself. "You tell your brother that I don't want him to come see me anymore. He has injured my pride and feelings with his willful ignorance. If _he_ didn't want to see me before, then _I_ don't want to see him now."

Cora didn't appear to have any good response to that. She opened her mouth a few times, but no words made it out. The Duchess of Roden was frowning now as well and she crossed her arms.

"Well this doesn't make any sense at all," she said.

Stiles bowed to her. "My apologies for the rudeness," he said. Around them, the light began to dim again. "Please excuse me. The intermission is over." And he left before she could order him to stay.

The hall was deserted save for two ushers still hurrying around, but they were far enough away. Stiles stopped halfway back to Scott's box and took several deep breaths. His hands were shaking and his heart was racing. He wasn't used to confrontations he could walk away from.

Just as he felt calmed down enough from the argument to continue walking, an usher came rushing out of a hall in front of him and almost ran into him.

"Oh! I apologize, Sir," the man said, bowing slightly and then hurrying on his way.

Stiles frowned. Everyone kept calling him 'sir' tonight. He wasn't a 'sir'. He was-

He ran his hands down the front of his suit. It was the clothing. It was the hair. He looked like he had money again, like he was noteworthy. But he wasn't a noble. He had no title. He couldn't even be called a gentleman, as he had no money of his own.

No wonder Lord Derek Hale ignored him.

Suddenly, Stiles felt like a fraud. He made his way slowly back toward Scott's box, the sounds of the play echoing out into the hall. He wanted to go back to before the intermission, back to when he felt like he belonged at Scott's side, back to being lost in the invigorating storytelling of the theater crew.

What if- What if Derek really had thought he'd died? What if that was why he hadn't come to visit? Except Stiles had sent him letters – eight of them! How could he claim to be in the dark?

His chest felt too tight. His vision narrowed, and he wasn't sure what he was looking at anymore.

"Der-," he wheezed and fell against the wall.

The door in front of him swung open and hit him in the side. The wood collided with his leg and Stiles hit the floor with a shout of pain. His injured leg screamed back, though no one could hear it. Well that was one way out of a panic attack, but Stiles wasn't sure which situation was better. Now he was stuck on the floor, cradling his throbbing leg and hissing.

Scott, the one who'd hit him with the door, did what any good friend would do in his position. He panicked and called for an usher. His mother joined them in the hall, calming her son, and then helped lift Stiles into Scott's arms. Together they carried Stiles out to their waiting carriage and rushed him through the night toward the hospital. They had to make sure his leg fracture hadn't flared up or broken again.

"Sorry," Stiles mumbled, his head on Scott's chest.

"For what? I'm the one who hit _you_."

"You missed the end of the play." It had been a really good play too.

Scott shook his head. "It'll be performed a few more times. We can catch the rest tomorrow night."

But they didn't go back the next night, nor the night after that. The play ran its course, and the McCall family did not return to watch the ending. It was Stiles' fault, because Dr. Deaton had put him on strict bed rest for two days to let the new swelling go down. But Scott didn't bat an eye. He didn't blame Stiles at all.

Really, what had Stiles done to deserve such a friend?


	20. Chapter 20

Despite what Stiles had said to Lady Cora Hale, he found himself a liar. He _did_ want to see Derek. He couldn't explain why, because he was still very passionately upset about being ignored for a couple of weeks, but he deeply desired to see Derek.

Something about Cora's story kept nagging at him. The image of Derek, locked away in a study and hiding behind ludicrously tall stacks of paperwork, kept coming to him in the last moments of each day. When he was laid out in bed, staring at the ceiling, his mind would drift there and wonder if it was true. Was Derek really sitting there, staring at the papers but not really seeing them? Was he messing up that perfect hair? Were there bags under his eyes from his newfound inability to sleep? Had he been sitting there, imagining Stiles being beaten to death, for weeks with no news to the contrary?

Was Derek mourning him?

But he did not try to write another letter, and no letters arrived for him. Even if Derek had been in mourning, it did not explain his current silence. Stiles lived with the McCalls, a week passed, and no messages came. Lady Cora had had enough time to write home, and Derek had had enough time to then write to Stiles. But there was nothing. Stiles had said not to visit, but surely the lord could at least write.

A week after the play, Stiles went to breakfast like any other day, but the day finally had other plans. There was a knock on the door just as the breakfast plates were swept away. Lady McCall went to receive their guest while Scott asked Stiles if he'd be interested in walking the town that day. The two young men were hashing out the details as they passed by the entryway, but there they were frozen in their tracks.

"Stiles!"

It was Miss Allison Argent, standing in the entry hall in her least poofy dress. She didn't wait for Stiles to recognize her. She was upon him in an instant, her arms wrapped tightly around him until he almost couldn't breathe.

"I'm so happy to see you," she said, her voice on the edge of tears. "I thought- My father wouldn't tell me anything! I thought you must have died! But you're okay!"

"Allison-," Stiles gasped. So Cora hadn't been lying there. People really thought he was dead. But then how did Allison know the truth? How had she known where to find him?

Stiles looked back toward the front door and saw two people still standing there. Lady McCall was smiling warmly, which was normal, but to see a similar look on the face of Lord Christopher Argent was not something Stiles was accustomed to. The older man tipped his head to Stiles, who returned the gesture.

After another moment of her bone-crushing hug, Allison pulled back an arm's length to look Stiles over. "You're alive! And you look- You look rather good. You've been getting outside, based on your complexion. That's good. And my goodness, was my family feeding you so little? I swear you've gained ten pounds, at least! That's not a bad thing. And these clothes! Stiles, you look great!"

He blushed hard. "Thank you." He cleared his throat. "Allison, have you met Baron Posey? No? Great! Allow me to introduce Lord Scott McCall, Baron of Posey. Scott, meet Lady Allison Argent."

"My lord." Allison curtsied beautifully.

"My lady." Scott offered his hand to her, which she took. After they shook, he kissed her hand. What a flirt. Actually, he wasn't a flirt, because he sort of went silent after that. In fact, he just held Allison's hand like a broken machine, unmoving and awkward.

Allison cleared her throat but didn't try to pull away. "Um. Thank you, Baron Posey, for taking care of Stiles. It means just so much to me. He's my best friend, you see."

Scott blushed and cleared his throat too. "It was nothing. Stiles is my best friend too. I'm glad I, ah, _we_ could help. I'm glad _we_ could help. My mother, uh, she helped."

They were still holding hands.

"Well!" Stiles declared loudly to break the moment. "Now that we all know each other and have determined I apparently have _two_ best friends, maybe we could move this into the sitting room and discuss what brings the pair of you to town?"

"Right." Scott dropped Allison's hand like she were suddenly made of fire. He bowed his head in apology.

The whole group migrated to the sitting room. Lady McCall sat first and beckoned Allison to join her on the small couch. Lord Argent took the chair on her other side. Stiles and Scott took the second couch, which sat perpendicularly to the first.

Stiles thought he'd have to start the conversation again, but Lord Argent surprised him by going first. "I apologize, Stiles. The rumor of your death is entirely my fault. All I told Allison was that you weren't coming back. The servants were certain you had died, and I did nothing to correct them. At the time, I thought it was probably for the best. My father and sister would stop harassing you if they suspected you were no longer an issue. However, it has come to my attention that the gravity of the rumor has spread far beyond our estate."

Beside him on the couch, Scott gasped a little. "So Lord Hale honestly believed Stiles had died?" Of course Stiles had filled him in on his discussion with the duchess' huntress. "But then why didn't he say something when Stiles started writing to him?"

"That I don't know," Lord Argent said, frowning. "No one in our house has been in contact with him since he left to check on his father."

So Lady Cora hadn't been lying. Derek had believed Stiles to have died that day, mere hours after his own exit from the house. How long had it taken the message of Stiles' untimely demise to reach him? Lady Cora had said a 'ruthless' servant had given Derek the news, but Stiles couldn't think of any servant who would have done such a thing. He could, however, see Lady Katherine writing in the guise of a servant in order to crush Derek's spirit. She'd lost her chance with the lord, so he was now an open target for her poison.

"Did you come to apologize for the rumor?" Stiles asked. It seemed like a large distance to cover just to clear up a misunderstanding, especially when Stiles had only discovered the issue last week. "If so, don't worry. It didn't change much about my life."

Lady McCall looked as though that was the saddest thing he'd ever said in her presence. Beside her, Lord Argent frowned deeply and looked guiltier than Stiles had ever seen before. Sure, the man always looked a little pinched and guilty around Stiles, but accidentally telling people Stiles had died was no cause for worsening the expression.

"No," Allison said, and she looked like she'd rather be sitting next to Stiles than across the room. "No, we came because my _father_ has been keeping a secret for two years, even from me." Well Stiles had never heard her say anything about her father in such an angry, disappointed tone before. His attention was instantly captured. "And this secret would definitely have changed everything for you."

They all looked to the eldest man, but he did not squirm under the attention. His face was set into a deep frown, and he still looked guilty, but he met Stiles' gaze with determination. "Two years ago, I became suspicious of something I overheard my father tell my sister. I cannot remember the exact wording, but it made me wonder about the reason for your stay in our household. I began looking through my father's records whenever he left me to my own devices in the study. I scoured my sister's notes. By the mid-year, I was certain… though I'm almost positive that no Argent was near your home at the time of your father's end, my sister funded the arsonist who started the fire."

The room went cold. Stiles' brow knit and he couldn't hold anyone's gaze, so he aimed his confusion at the floor.

"What?"

The fire had started after a week of drought. The judge determined that a stray spark in the kitchen had set it off. Stiles had burns, literal scars, on his back from when his shirt had caught alight. He could still see the glow of the flames in the night sky. Katherine Argent had _paid_ someone to start the fire?

"But- But why? Why would she- she do that? I mean she-" Stiles ran his hands over his hair and then over his face, pulling his mouth shut before it dropped open again in shock. "She said my dad owed her a lot of money but surely she could have gotten it back faster from him than from me working it off. Why would she-"

Lord Argent looked away from him, and that's when Stiles understood that his world was only half-finished being shaken. There was more to the story.

"What?" Stiles asked, voice cracking. "What else is there? What more could she _possibly_ have done?"

Lord Argent took a deep breath and let it out through his nose. Head shaking, he opened his mouth to continue, but it seemed he hadn't quite worked out how to say it. His daughter stood and moved to sit between Stiles and Scott. She took Stiles' hand into her own and made sure his eyes were on her alone.

"Father didn't know it until recently, Stiles. He only found out for certain when Lord Hale's uncle wrote to him. That was his breaking point, and you can't hold it against him," she said.

"What is it, Allison? What?" Stiles clenched his fingers around her hand. What was so terrible that they had to soften the blow this much? What had Mr. Peter Hale revealed besides Derek and Stiles' affair?

"Stiles-" Allison released his hand in lieu of holding his face between both of her hands, keeping him focused, keeping him in place. "You're still the Baron of Goodwater."

Someone was banging on the door. Someone was shouting his name.

It couldn't be true. It wasn't true. There was no way Stiles was still a Baron. He would have known. Someone would have told him. The Argents were crazy but they couldn't have kept this a secret. How could they have possibly kept this a secret? It couldn't be true because- because Kate had that form, signed by the courts and everyone. Kate was the Baroness of Goodwater. It was Kate. It was-

The door clicked open. Someone had gotten the key from the kitchens.

Stiles didn't raise his head from his knees. He held the back of his head, his forehead pressed against his legs, and sat as far back on his bed as possible, trying to be invisible. Someone sat beside him, but he didn't check who. He needed time to process. He needed to be alone. He needed-

"Stiles?" Allison. Of course it was Allison. "Stiles, talk to me."

"I can't be," Stiles murmured and shook his head back and forth against his legs. "Allison, I'm not."

"But you are." She put a hand on his back. "Mr. Hale says there is no record on file of the title ever being reassigned. My aunt is not, nor has she ever been, in possession of your title."

"But the debt-"

Allison shook her head. He could hear her hair shifting on her back. "There is no debt. I know. It's a lot to take in. She bribed a solicitor to draw up the documents she showed us proclaiming herself Baron. She lied about your father being in debt. She may have been instrumental in his death. I can't imagine how you must be feeling."

Stiles jerked his head up to look at her. "Five- What-" He swallowed hard around the lump forming in his throat, in his chest, in his soul. "If I'm a Baron, then why? Five years, Allison. I was under her thumb. I- Your grandfather put me in that den for- for five years, and-How am I supposed to just- I don't know – How am I supposed to process that? How does anyone move on from that kind of hole? Allison-"

He was looking at her, but he wasn't seeing her. He was seeing the den at the Argent Estate. He was seeing that broken dresser in his room where Earl Argent had busted Stiles' lip in his first month. His eyes were roaming all over the empty kitchen, where Kate had made him eat alone for a fortnight because he'd acted like he was still titled. He was seeing every sign of his inadequacies, splayed out in fluorescent paint by Lady Kate and her father, hung on every wall for Stiles to see. He was realizing that his entire existence for almost five years had been a continuous redesigning of his life and who he was until he almost didn't recognize himself. And how was he supposed to just tear all of that down? Where was he supposed to start pulling nails? Because they were telling him that his old life was still there, the walls still standing, but he hadn't seen those walls in so long. He didn't know where- He didn't even know what part of his life hadn't been touched by their lying hands.

Allison wrapped him in her arms, and he accepted her comfort without question. She had always been on his side, and he knew she'd never have kept this secret from him if she'd known it. He couldn't blame her for her family's actions.

"I am _so_ sorry, Stiles. I don't know where to begin making this up to you."

He slowly uncurled his legs so she had an easier access to him and then returned the embrace. Chin on her shoulder, Stiles had a view of the door and he spotted Scott lingering just in view and looking torn. Stiles closed his eyes so he wouldn't see. He couldn't worry about Scott right now. He had too much to think about.

"I don't know either," Stiles said. "About anything. Do I return to Goodwater? Is there anything to return to? Would anyone there even want me back?"

"You had lots of visitors marked down when I first met you. I'm sure there are plenty of people anxiously waiting to hear you're coming home." She was trying to be positive, but the word 'home' made Stiles uneasy.

Was Goodwater still home? He had no family left in it. Home certainly wasn't the Argent Estate. And as lovely as the McCall's were, this was their home and not Stiles'. But the Stilinski House had burned to the ground. Where would Stiles call home now? Even if he rebuilt the framework, could he stand to live on the ashes of his father's house?

"I think I… I need some time alone," Stiles murmured. He extricated himself from Allison's arms and cleared his throat. "Your father has wrecked my entire world in the span of five minutes. I need some time to think, to put things back together."

"Of course you do. I'm sorry. But if you need anything, I'll be just down the hall, alright? Come and get me… alright?" She slowly slid off the bed and walked half-backwards toward the door.

"Okay, Allison. Okay." Stiles managed a little laugh at her over protectiveness, and that earned him a small smile from her.

When the door clicked back shut behind her, Stiles frowned at his sheets. He'd always known that Katherine Argent was psychotic, but he'd never expected anything like this. For nearly five years she had lied to him, used him for free labor, and abused him for her own amusement. He still didn't know why, but did it even matter why? He was a Baron.

He was a Baron. Capital B. Holy shit.

Did he have money? How would he find out? Who had been collecting the taxes these past five years? The bank? Certainly not Kate. She'd always complained about being penniless without her father and blamed it on Stiles' family and their debts. She could have been lying, but somehow Stiles doubted it.

He was a Baron. Capital B. He probably had money. Capital M. Kind of. Not really. Money wasn't a proper noun. Whatever.

Stiles didn't know the state of his father's affairs or his own. He didn't know where he would live from now on or if he had anywhere in Goodwater that could, or would, take him back. He was unsure of Kate's motives, and he certainly was unsure how steady he could be after surviving five years in the shadow of the Argent Estate. But he knew one thing. It had been growing in his chest, in his fingers, ever since he'd begun to accept that what Allison had said was true.

Moving to the desk in his room, Stiles rifled around until he found what he needed – a piece of paper, an inkwell, and a pen. His chest ached as he stared at the paper. He wouldn't have to send the letter, he told himself. He just had to write it and get it out of his system.

He dipped the pen, gently dabbed off the extra ink on the edge of the inkwell, and poised the pen over the top of the page. With a steadying breath, he pressed the tip of the pen down.

 _Dear Derek,_

 _Honestly, I'm not sure the salutation is in good taste. You are dear to me, Derek. Or at least you were. I thought I would have been happy living in your shadow for the rest of my life – at least happier than I'd been at the Argent Estate. Then I thought I'd have been happy so long as I could keep you in my life, even if I had to give up your kisses, but your last night at the estate made me realize I'd never be happy with distance between us._

 _I wondered why you didn't come when I woke up, when I moved into the McCall Manor, when I wrote you all of those letters. I know now that you thought I died, but I cannot understand why you would still believe such a rumor with letters arriving for you written in my hand._

 _I know you thought I died. Is it sick that I hope you mourned me? I hope you cried and wanted to lock yourself away for a year and considered never looking at another person the way you looked at me. I hope so, because it might mean you once cared for me a modicum of how much I cared about you. I hope so because I wanted to keep that smile of yours locked up in my selfish, greedy pocket. I know this makes me cruel. I won't apologize for it._

 _I'd sworn never to write to you again, but I needed to tell someone something, and the only person I could think of was you. How messed up is that? You won't even read this letter or honor it with a response, and yet my hands ached with the need to write it._

 _I have been told secrets today. I was told about the rumor of my death. I was burdened with the knowledge that Lady Katherine Argent most likely played a key role in the death of my father, of my whole life, and yet there is no substantial evidence to prove this, so she will likely never be charged for it. I am so angry about this that I could scream for days. And it has been revealed to me that I have lived a harsh, unfair, miserable half-life for the past four-and-a-half years for no reason than one family's gift for cruelty._

 _My father was Baron Goodwater, and upon his death this title passed to me. He died under no great debts, and his good-for-nothing son has squandered his title. I am Baron Goodwater. I still cannot fathom the power of those words, but I shiver whenever I think them. I am Baron Goodwater. When I had begun to accept this pronouncement, I felt at once that I had to tell you – you of all people. I am Baron Goodwater. I don't know why, but I needed to write it down. I had to tell the person I thought would care the most, the person I wanted to know the most, the person I desired counsel and comfort from the most. I just wanted to know what you thought I should do, and I wanted you to be the first to hear it from my mouth, from my pen._

 _I need to say it one more time. I am Baron Goodwater._

 _Yours, Stiles_

 _P.s. This has been the craziest day of my life. I still keep thinking I'm dreaming. All my dream needs now is you walking through the door, and I'll know I've finally lost my mind._

He folded the letter with obsessive precision before even attempting to slide it into an envelope. He spent a ridiculous amount of time perfecting the curl of the letters in his address. He even wasted time cleaning up the extra wax around the seal on the back. When he was done, he ran a hand over his face and sighed.

All this explicit attention to detail meant nothing, because he couldn't mail the letter. Even if he did, Derek wouldn't reply. Dream or not, Derek would not be walking in the front door like a hero, because Stiles was no longer in danger. Because Derek didn't want him anymore.

Shaking off the thought, Stiles slid the envelope into his desk drawer and determined himself to never touch it again. He had enough problems now. He didn't need to keep dwelling on Lord Derek Hale. In the grand scheme of things, Stiles' forlorn love story was truly a speck in time and energy. Rediscovering himself and his entitlements, now that was deserving of his vigor and attention. And after writing it all down, Stiles was finally ready to focus on what truly mattered.


	21. Chapter 21

County Goodwater was half the size of Gévaudan and not nearly as lucrative, but such was the difference between the lands of an Earl and a Baron. Goodwater was bordered on one side by water, a massive lake that you couldn't see the other side of with the naked eye. Across that lake laid the great expanse of Gévaudan, but from the shores of Goodwater you couldn't even see it. It was like being in another world.

When Stiles had moved to Gévaudan, he'd expected to feel close to home. The two counties were technically bordered by each other, but the sides of the lake were not heavily populated and mostly consisted of plain roads. Their first true towns and cities were so far apart that it would take almost a full-day's carriage ride to go from one to the other. The Argents didn't live near the lake, preferring to live closer to their more heavily populated areas. Altogether it meant that Stiles had not seen his home by any stretch of the imagination for his entire internment.

Posey, on the other hand, was closer in size to Goodwater. The only reason Goodwater was larger was because the lake was considered part of the lands, so anyone doing business on it – such as fishing or farming – had to pay the Baron of Goodwater for that privilege, even if they lived in another county. Like Gévaudan, Posey bordered Goodwater, though not near the lake. Posey and Goodwater marked their edges with a different natural landscape – the Nemeton Forest. A river split the forest almost in half, even forming a ravine in parts, and that river was the border.

Stiles stared out at the water as their carriage passed over it. He knew there was no true difference in the air between counties, that the lighting wasn't actually different, that sounds weren't clearer just because he crossed a bridge, but it all felt true to him.

He remembered this forest, so much denser and more beautiful than the forest around the Argent Estate. Even though they were well into autumn, the bushes and trees were thicker here, as though they had been gifted with an extra energy while they grew. There must be something in the water.

Stiles had the window open, letting the cool air hit him, long before they arrived at their destination. It was like a carriage ride through his memories of a life before… before everything. It looked like home. It sounded like home. He leaned on the window frame, taking in as much of his county as he could without stopping their progress.

They passed by several farms and then through a town. The fields looked well tended, and several herds of livestock were dotting the landscape. The homes and business did not look in too bad of disrepair. Though one store had suffered a recent cave in of their storefront overhang, the rest were all in good condition. He saw no obvious signs of poverty, though he was sure he would discover some eventually. Many people stopped walking and stepped aside to let the carriage pass. Most eyes followed the sight of a fancy carriage even if they hadn't been in its path.

Though he'd been absent from their lives for five years, Stiles thought some of the people recognized him in their brief glimpses of him. One woman was close enough that he heard her gasp, but then she was out of sight.

"I'm getting a bit nervous," he admitted.

"Why?" Scott sat across from him, Allison beside him.

"I don't know how to be a Baron. I barely paid attention when my father tried to teach me, and now I have to jump into the role. All of these people are going to be expecting me to know what I'm doing." He leaned back from the window, suddenly self-conscious about being noticed.

Shaking his head, Scott leaned forward and placed a hand on his knee. "Nonsense. You've been helping me do my job for a month. Mother and I knew you'd need a refresher on the job, and what better way to do that than a sort of internship with me?"

Stiles rolled his eyes. He'd almost forgotten – Lady McCall and her son had known Stiles was still a Baron even before Allison had. Lord Argent had discovered the news, of course, when the beating had occurred. He'd written to the McCalls to ask their help even before that – he needed to transport someone very important out of the county, preferably in secret. The near-death beating Stiles had received had sped up his itinerary, but not by much.

He'd warned Lady McCall about Stiles' noble status – that was what Stiles had almost overheard during his transport, just before he'd lost consciousness again. Lady McCall and her son had then taken it upon themselves to give Stiles a crash course in how to be a noble again, to help undo some of the undermining Katherine Argent had done to him in her four years of control over his life. Stiles could argue that he was still pretty lackluster in the personality department, even before Kate had gotten to him, but he didn't want to disappoint the McCalls, so he just nodded and said thank you.

"It was a very informative month with you, Scott, but a month of learning doesn't magically clear up a lifetime of anxiety." Stiles gave him a half smile to assure the other Baron that he wasn't upset about this. "But I suppose I'll always be able to write to you and ask for advice, so that's a comfort."

Allison laughed teasingly. "Going to have Baron Posey do all the work for you?"

"Absolutely!" Stiles grinned widely. "Why do any work when you can get your friends to do it for you?"

They laughed together for a moment, but then the carriage began to slow and Stiles' laugh got stuck in his throat. They had arrived. It was the moment of truth. He was going to step out of this carriage, and that would be it. He wouldn't be a nobody anymore. He wouldn't be invisible. He'd be re-declaring himself to the world.

Was he ready for this? He wasn't ready for this.

The carriage stopped. The door cracked open. A familiar head popped inside. Blonde and unfairly attractive, Officer Parrish gave them a bemused smile. He cast his eyes around the carriage until he found Stiles.

"Welcome home, _Sir_ ," he said, stressing the word. Stiles recalled the theater, how Officer Parrish had called him the same title there, and realized that the Duchess of Roden had probably known Stiles was a lord by then. As such, Parrish had known too. No wonder he'd been confused when Stiles had tried to correct him.

"Good to be home?" Stiles said, though it was more of a question.

Technically, this was not Stiles' home, not by a long shot. When he'd lived in Goodwater, his family's home had been a few miles north of here, but this was still his first time back in his county, so sure. Welcome home and whatever.

Stepping out of the carriage, Stiles stared up at the building before him. The local courthouse was more intimidating now than he'd ever found it before. Before, it was a minor detail in his life because lords couldn't be charged with most crimes and it was his father who was called in to settle large issues, not him. Now it held the power to change Stiles' whole life.

"This way," Officer Parrish said and motioned for them to follow him. They went up the steps and through the large front doors. "My Lady couldn't be here today, but she sent me in her stead to ensure everything goes smoothly."

"Does the duchess always take so much interest in the lives of barons?" Stiles asked. He'd helped the duchess with a carriage wheel once, but surely she had more important issues and people to focus on. Yet she'd sent her personal guard to help Stiles. Why?

Officer Parrish shrugged. "When you spoke at the theater, she realized more was going on than she'd known of. After you left, she asked Lady Cora for anything she knew about you. Then she asked several other members of the court as well. When she discovered you'd essentially been held captive by another noble, she swore to intervene." He frowned and glanced at Stiles while they walked. "Are you aware that no one in your county knew where you'd gone?"

Stiles was so nervous that his hands were shaking more with every step closer to the barrister's office. "No," he said, only half listening. "Honestly, I didn't think anyone cared… because I thought they had a new baroness."

"No. Apparently, Lady Katherine has been unable to access any of your family funds. But I'm getting ahead of myself. The barrister can explain it all to you." He motioned to a door. "Here we are. Please, allow me to go in first and announce you properly."

It had been years since Stiles had been announced by anyone. He nodded numbly, and Parrish eased the door open.

"Good afternoon, barrister," he said. "I am Officer Parrish, here in the stead of her Ladyship, the Duchess of Roden. Please allow me to introduce Lord Stilinski, Baron Goodwater. Accompanying him today are Baron Posey and Lady Allison Argent."

The barrister beckoned them in further. She sat behind a large oak desk that was covered in papers and files. A plaque on the desk read 'Tara Graeme, Barrister'. Stiles saw her dark hair and skin and immediately relaxed. He knew this barrister.

"Tara," he said with a sigh of relief.

She smiled fondly at him and stood. With a bow of her head, she said, "I always knew you would return, my Lord."

"Tara, please." Stiles shook his head. "You don't have to do that."

Her smile turned a little impish. "Perhaps, but I've always wanted to address you properly at least once." The grin vanished. "When you disappeared after the fire, I worried I might never get the chance. But then that horrible woman came around, trying to claim your rightful property and I knew something wasn't right. Don't worry though, Stiles. She hasn't laid a hand on even a penny of your family funds."

Allison's eyebrows rose. "My- I mean, Lady Katherine hasn't been receiving payments? Even though she's been claiming to be the baroness?"

Tara nodded with pride. "No one but the Stilinski family will get access to their vault on my watch." Then she turned to Officer Parrish. "Unless, of course, the royal family asks."

"Of course," Officer Parrish agreed, but he obviously hadn't been worried about that at all.

They all sat around the desk to hear the facts. After the fire, Stiles had been in the hospital. Soon after he'd been discharged, Lady Katherine had shown up at the courthouse with her phony claim to the title. Of course it was checked out and discovered to be a forgery, but Lady Katherine swore she had a right to the county funding. Every lawyer and barrister in Goodwater had been blocking her attempts for the past five years, because they were all still loyal to Lord Stilinski, and his son wherever he was.

"But if Lady Katherine hasn't been running the county as baroness, who has?" Stiles asked, leaning forward in his seat so he could lean on the desk.

Tara grinned again, this time like she was revealing a juicy secret. "Myself and two others here in the courthouse have been keeping things running smoothly. We've done our best to maintain the standards set forth by your father, but we knew we were only place holders for the day you returned."

This was all fantastic news, of course, but Stiles frowned anyway. "I appreciate your support," he said. "I… apologize. I was tricked into believing a lie, but… I mean, that's not a good excuse. I should have come home. I-"

"Nonsense," Tara said, shaking her head. "We've received letters from the Duchess of Roden _and_ the Earl of Beacon. We know what happened to you. Lady Katherine kept you as a scribe against your will and fooled you with her counterfeit letter of patent. Both the Duchess and Earl assured us that you have been kept in the dark about the truth and would have returned immediately, had you known. They both also requested a swift and smooth transition to your return to power. However, even without those letters, I doubt anyone in this office would have opposed you."

It felt all too easy at first, but Stiles soon realized it would be a full evening of work. Tara and the others had been keeping things running, and each had to be present in order to transfer rights back to Stiles. There were forms to sign, procedures to follow, and each one had to give a lengthy description of what they'd been in charge of. Tara assured him that they would work with him until he understood where things stood in the county and could manage on his own, but they still gave him enough information that he had reason to worry he'd never see them again. Most of their information went right over his head, as well, since they mentioned people and events he was unfamiliar with.

It was an arduous process, and Stiles dismissed Scott and Allison shortly into it. The other two nobles left to pass the time together until Stiles was done. When at last the sun had set and Stiles was finished, he set out to find his friends. Officer Parrish had remained present the entire time, and he followed Stiles out into the dark evening.

"Does her ladyship require you to follow me now?" Stiles asked.

The officer stood straight backed and professional, the same as he'd been doing for the last several hours. "No. But she asked me to deliver a message as soon as you finished getting reinstated."

Curiosity sufficiently peaked, Stiles faced the guard and held up his hands as though the message involved a gift. "Well? What are you waiting for? What's the message?"

Officer Parrish looked torn between embarrassment and amusement. "Now that you're a lord again, her ladyship requests that you be a man and not hold grudges against people that don't deserve them. She also gave the order for you not to mess up a beautiful little county by being a useless nobleman." He bowed his head to Stiles. "But she has every faith in you and wishes you the best of all lucks."

"Her ladyship is an interesting person," Stiles said, forehead drawn together in confusion. "Um. Tell her I'll do my best and I appreciate her support."

He was confused when Officer Parrish stepped into his carriage and was carried off into the night. He was still confused when he hopped into his rented barouche and set off to find Scott and Allison. Stiles couldn't tell if the duchess was being specific or generic in her orders. The young woman barely knew Stiles, and yet she claimed to have every faith in him? People were so odd sometimes, and he wasn't just thinking about the duchess. Lady McCall would certainly say the same crazy things, and he'd only known her a month or so.

All the positive energy aimed his way was freaking him out a little bit, if he was being honest.

About a block from the court house, Stiles almost called for the barouche to stop. In the crowds around the theater and the bank, he thought he'd spotted a familiar scruffy face, a set of dark eyebrows. But when he stood up in the barouche and turned back, he couldn't spot anyone he knew. It was just a mass of moving bodies and faces, too clustered together to see any one individual. Frowning with disappointment, Stiles slid back down into his seat.

No. He was not disappointed that Derek hadn't been in the crowd. He wasn't. He pressed a hand to his chest, trying to rub away the soreness inside him. Why did Derek have to pop up in his thoughts and ruin an otherwise great day?

He found Scott and Allison sitting on a bench outside a local winery. They had taken a tour of the building, but the business had closed when the sun went down, so the two nobles had to vacate. This didn't seem to have bothered them, as they were deep in conversation when Stiles drove up. Scott helped Allison into the barouche first and then clambered up beside her, leaving Stiles on his side alone.

Stiles's mind was still vaguely on the potential of Derek being in Goodwater, so it was a good thing that Scott and Allison needed no input from him to keep the conversation moving. In fact, Stiles was as good as invisible in that moment. The winery had clearly been a breeding ground for chemistry, as Scott and Allison seemed quite enamored with each other.

Stiles had never seen Allison so animated, so happy with a conversation partner, as she appeared in this one barouche ride with Scott. The two laughed at each other's jokes but also when they just agreed with each other. They were alive with energy, and their eyes never strayed from each other. It was as if they were the only two people in the whole town.

In fact, they kept up their constant stream of animated conversation all the way into the hotel and up to their rooms. Stiles went to the desk to check them in, though they had sent word ahead of time to prepare the rooms. The clerk almost fell over herself when she realized who was coming to claim the room. She bowed, garnering the attention of other workers, who then also scrambled to bow and shake his hand. There were a lot of greetings and 'welcome back's and all sorts of niceties, all of which Scott only mildly noticed so he offered no support during it.

Eventually, a porter took them to their rooms. Unfortunately, it meant he was witness to Scott and Allison's embarrassing display.

"Well I'll… see you in the morning, I suppose?" Scott said, hands clasped nervously behind his back so she couldn't see.

"Yes. Bright and early." Allison's hands were held in front of her, but no less nervously so. "Unless you wish to sleep in. Then I'll see you after breakfast?"

"Oh no. No, I'll definitely see you at breakfast." Scott held his hands up defensively, as though her suggestion was a shock. "And maybe… I could have the honor of spending the morning with you afterward?"

"Oh, yes!" Allison nodded, her cheeks flushing slightly. "I would enjoy that."

"Fantastic!" Stiles interrupted, unable to watch any longer. He paid the porter and then shoved Scott through the door to their room. "I'll be right in. You start getting ready for bed."

The porter disappeared down the stairs and the door shut loudly behind Scott, then it was just Allison and Stiles together in the hall. He walked her the few short feet to her room and opened the door for her.

"Was I being too forward?" Allison asked. "Too obvious? I'm sorry. I just really like him."

"I noticed," Stiles assured. He shook his head good naturedly. "Scott is a great man, Allison. I think he likes you as well, and the two of you will make a star couple. I'm the one who should be apologizing. I just couldn't watch you two being so obviously interested in each other anymore. It was grating on my nerves."

Allison placed a hand on his shoulder to keep him from leaving. "You'll find someone, Stiles. Title or not, you had people interested in you. You'll see. There's someone out there who loves you."

Whether she was thinking of someone specific or not, he wasn't sure. But she left him in the hall with that thought and shut the door in his face. He frowned, not sure if he believed her these days, and wandered back to his room with Scott.

Not having Allison around did not stop the shows of affection, it turned out. Scott ranted about how amazing Allison was long into the night. He detailed everything about her and what they spoke of, so much so that he even repeated full sections of conversation that Stiles had been present for.

"Oh, by the way," Stiles said, several hours into listening to Scott's recounting. The other lord stuttered to a halt and gave Stiles his full attention. "No one rebuilt my house after the fire – wonderful, that – so is it alright if I continue to live with you until a new one is built?"

"Of course!" Scott nodded excitedly. "I'd have you stay forever if you needed it. Have you gone by the bank to see your funds? It must be massive these days, considering you haven't touched it in five years."

Stiles shrugged. "The lawyers who've been running the county took their portions, of course, but Tara says I got my dues out of the taxes as well, as the rightful owner of the lands. Lady Katherine has been trying everything short of robbing the bank to get access to my family's vault, but luckily she hasn't received a penny of it."

"Do you think Earl Gévaudan knows? That she's been lying about your title and trying to get your money?" Scott asked – the beautiful innocent Baron that he was.

"Absolutely," Stiles said with conviction. "I'm sure he was just angry that she was failing to obtain anything. In fact, I'd say that even if he didn't help her original plan to burn my house down, he's probably been giving her tips about how to undermine me in the eyes of the law so she could get my money."

Honestly, he had no idea how much money was left for him. His father had been well off, of course, but Stiles had thought all of the money to be gone – sucked up into the coffers of the Argent family years ago. His first stop in the morning was the bank so he could figure out his budget for the new house. After that, he had a meeting with the architect and the company that would do the actual building. But-

"Honestly… Even if I had the funds of the entire country, I'm not sure how large I want my home to be. I've lived in large houses, mansions, and estates my whole life, so I don't think I'd do well with a tiny home, even if it was quaint. But… I'm just one person, and I don't know that I'll ever need a house as large as the Argents or the Hales, which can easily house ten people or more. Even my old house was meant for a family of five, despite the fact that it only held my father and me. It used to hold all five, but my grandparents died, then my mother, so then it was just us." He hummed. "Maybe I'll aim for that size, though. Because a library, a study, a sitting room for guests, and at few bedrooms – one for me and some for a guest or two… Yeah. That sounds nice."

"It sounds very cozy." If anyone but Scott had said it, Stiles may have thought they were jeering at him, but somehow Scott made the statement sound earnest and sweet.

"It does, doesn't it?" Stiles lay back on his bed and smiled at the ceiling. "Good enough for me, at least."

Maybe not good enough for an Earl, but it was enough for a Baron. He rolled over to face away from Scott and frowned. His mind had somehow drifted to Derek again. Dang it! It didn't matter how large Derek's house was or what size Derek would prefer. It wasn't as if the soon-to-be Earl was going to pop in on Stiles and use the guest room. It wasn't as if he'd be living there full time. Even if he and Stiles had met as lords, had courted properly, had begun a proper relationship, it wasn't like Derek would have moved into the smaller house. They would have-

If Stiles moved in with Derek, who would be in Goodwater? There'd be no resident lord. Who would witness the people's needs and work to correct them? Stiles could still be the Baron in another county, but managing from afar would never equal the quality people would receive if he managed from within the county.

He frowned into his pillow. Damn. Even if they'd both had titles to begin with, things would have been too complicated for a full relationship.

"Shut up," he mumbled into the pillow. "You don't care, remember?"

"What was that?" Scott asked, slipping out of bed to put out the lamps.

"Nothing," Stiles said, loud enough to be understood this time. "I was just going to say goodnight."

"Oh. Goodnight." He bought the lie almost too easily, too cheerfully. Then the room was cast into darkness, and Stiles did his best not to think until sleep could claim him.


	22. Chapter 22

It turned out that Scott had the right idea. After five years of accumulation on top of an already hefty sum and all the interest, Stiles was well and truly wealthy. Now the job was to not spend it all in a year like some wild-child fool. The house was going to cost a good chunk, but Stiles was confident he would have no other great expenses. It wasn't as if he was a gambling addict or something. The money should last him for the rest of his life, considering he'd have a steady income as well.

The meeting with the architect took most of the morning as they worked out dimensions and layouts, colors and materials. They broke for lunch and then discussed the method of payment. By mid-afternoon, Stiles, Scott, and Allison were comfortably situated in a carriage and heading back to County Posey.

On the journey, Allison took the time to congratulate Stiles, again and again, on his restored title and his family fortune. She was so happy with the circumstances. It was everything she'd ever dared hoped for Stiles and so much more. Not only was he out of her family's estate, but he had his own estate returned and had a real, bright future ahead of him as a proper member of the wealthy upper-class. They could go to theaters, sporting events, and even balls together now.

The idea of fraternizing with other upper-class nobles made Stiles' skin crawl, but he resolved himself to do his best for Allison. His memory of their curious stares and nagging questions and accusatory rumors was still fresh, but surely he could put an end to all of that by reintegrating himself properly. Right? In any case, he didn't plan on going to visit anyone noble or stepping into their midst as an equal until he'd properly reacquainted himself with his county and people. If he wasn't comfortable with his job and role, he'd never be comfortable in a setting where people would ask him a million questions about both.

Part of him still got anxious at the idea of his title, of the weight attached to it. Part of him still wondered if he was worth it all, if he was good enough. Even though his two best friends kept saying how much he deserved it, how great he'd be at it, he couldn't help the doubting that haunted his mind. He felt like a play actor and had to constantly remind himself that he'd been prepped for this his whole life. This was where he'd always been meant to end up. There was nothing phony about it.

Tell that to his stomach.

* * *

Mail began to arrive for Stiles at the McCall manor. At first, his heart leapt into his throat with hope, but that hope was soon dashed. All the mail came from County Goodwater. It was all business. The lawyers and barristers who'd been watching over things were sending him reports and documents detailing their work and why they decided on certain outcomes. It was a crash course in the economics of his home county.

Every morning saw more letters arriving at the manor, first only from the lawyers but then from all manner of public offices. The bank needed clearance for funds to be dispersed to certain organizations. The barristers needed judgment on tough cases. Letters of request from local gentlemen and their families arrived, with each seeking a meeting with their newly appointed landlord. Many had known Stiles as the son of a lord, but now he was their Baron and they wished to pay their respects. Stiles replied to each that they could visit to properly introduce themselves once his new house was built and he was returned to the county permanently.

Well, Stiles didn't reply, exactly. Scott insisted on giving Stiles a scribe – his scribe, to be precise. Liam transcribed the same letter multiple times to send to the gentry families. Then he transposed all of Stiles' messages to the common folk. Many letters requesting assistance or describing problematic conditions in the region had been forwarded to Stiles from the working class. It was his job now to settle these common issues if he could – whether personally or by assigning it to a proper department in his infrastructure.

It was all extremely tiring and made his head spin a little. It was a lot like being thrown in the deep end of a pool.

Allison and her father couldn't stay much longer. They'd been visiting for a fortnight when Lord Argent announced they'd be returning home. He couldn't hide the true nature of his visit from his father forever, so they had to leave now.

"What did you tell your father when you left?" Stiles asked, curious. What lie had let them slip out unnoticed?

Lord Argent smiled a little at Stiles. Rarely did Stiles see that guilt-ridden look on the lord's face that he'd been so accustomed to. Now that Stiles was among different nobility, now that he was no longer being abused, it seemed Lord Argent was able to look upon Stiles without the burden of his conscience getting in the way.

"I knew my father had meant for Allison to marry Lord Hale. Since he was clearly off the board, I happened to mention I was friends with a widow and her entitled son. It only took a few hints for my father to suggest I bring Allison for a visit, to introduce her to Baron Posey and see if she was to his liking." He shrugged and cast his gaze across the sitting room, to where Scott and Allison were deep in a hushed conversation once more. "He'll be happy to hear that the affections seem to be mutual. Perhaps not as happy as I am, though. It was a lie to get us into the county to see you, but there is some truth in it now. She seems very happy with him… and as much as it would pain me to ever be rid of her, I am happy for her too."

"So am I." Stiles smiled at Allison, though she was paying him no attention. "I was worried that her constant fear for me would keep her from meeting anyone. Now she can worry about herself instead."

Never in Stiles' life would he have expected to be sitting next to Lord Argent, both admiring the honest, open, happy expression on Allison's face – the two of them aligned in solidarity. It was extremely odd, if Stiles were being honest, but he wasn't about to break the moment either. He much preferred this type of interaction to the ignorance and silence of before.

When the Argents took their leave, Scott was quite despondent. He wandered among his many animals, petting and feeding them in a sort of daze. The weather was dropping quickly these days, turning chilly and even biting at night. Scott didn't notice this despite forgetting his coat. He did notice when Stiles joined him, but it was barely an improvement to his mood. He smiled and tried to keep up their banter, but his mind was clearly on the road with the Argents.

"You can at least write to her," Stiles said, and he instantly noticed the bitter edge to his tone. "She'll write back."

"I'm sorry," Scott muttered and ran a hand over his face. "I'm not being kind to you. It's not as if she left for good, or for another… another man. Is there another man?"

"Allison?" Stiles snorted. "Never. She's always been too preoccupied. Trust me, you have no competition. And she already likes you."

"I like her too." Scott smiled embarrassedly when Stiles shot him a look that clearly said 'Oh really? I hadn't noticed'. "Sorry. She's just so amazing. We think alike on so many fronts. And she's funny too!"

"And she's a master archer," Stiles supplied, trying to overload Scott's brain so the conversation could move on. Scott's eyes widened in awe. "She's heading to a university in the spring, but I believe it's actually here in Posey. You may not be an Earl, but I'm sure her grandfather can find no legitimate reason to get in your way."

"Do you really think her grandfather won't like me?" Scott asked, his face falling so fast it was almost comical.

Something in Stiles snapped. "You don't want her grandfather to like you!" he shouted, throwing his arms out wide and spinning around in the middle of the yard. "He's a vindictive, violent psychopath, Scott! Have you just, what, forgotten about all that? He locked me in the- He broke my-!"

Scott's hands grabbed onto Stiles' arms and he got up close in Stiles' personal space. "No!" He shouted to be heard over Stiles, but then dropped his voice back to speaking level. His eyes were wide with guilt and concern. "No, I- I did forget. I'm sorry. I was just distracted. I was thinking about Allison and I forgot about what happened to you. That was an awful thing for me to do. I'm so sorry."

Stiles took a deep breath to calm himself down. "It's alright. I'm just stressed. I have all of my new duties and obligations and- and then I see you and Allison being so happy and I get jealous."

"Jealous of us together?" Scott let Stiles pull away from him, but he followed him closely. "Did you leave someone behind at the Argent Estate?"

"No." Stiles shook his head forcefully. "In fact, you could say I was the one left behind. Which might be unkind, but I'm trying to be mad at the party involved, so I have to be mean when the opportunity presents itself." He tapped on the fence around the dogs as they passed by.

"Is there any way I can help?" Scott was even with him now, walking as equals. "I could send a man to fetch her? Him? Have we talked about this before?"

Stiles laughed at that. "Only a little," he admitted. "But you've been under a love spell recently, so I forgive your lapse in hindsight. Anyway, I made my affair a footnote in my stories. No need to worry you about something that was over."

"So… jog my memory. Who were you having an affair with?"

Stiles laughed again, because he wasn't about to open the can of worms he'd been trying to smash shut for the last two months. Not even for a friend as kind and concerned as Scott.

* * *

The dreams started when the Argents arrived, but they only got worse after they left. While Lord Argent and his daughter had visited, Stiles had dreamt mini nightmares about being back at the Argent Estate. Seeing Allison and her father in the daylight tricked his subconscious into remembering their home – no matter how far away it really was.

With the Argents gone, his mind could drift to other topics at night, but that didn't mean the nightmares left him. He would find himself standing in the ruins of his family home, his father miraculously alive. His father was always just shaking his head and looking disappointed, more disappointed than Stiles had ever seen him in life – and that was saying something. The Queen or the Duchess or some other royal would appear. Stiles would kneel politely, but they were always glaring at him. They stripped him of his title, his lands, and his name. In the end, even his father walked away from him.

If he was still asleep, he drifted into the worse dream – the one that felt too real. He was standing at an alter, waiting in front of everyone he knew and loved, and several people he was meant to impress. The pastor stood behind him, huffing disapprovingly the longer the dream went on. People kept glancing away from Stiles to stare down the empty aisle toward the doors. The dream would run for what felt like hours, no bride appearing to take Stiles' hand.

People whispered and surmised and made new rumors about him. Stiles kept apologizing to the pastor, and to the nobility waiting in the front rows. He was sure she'd be here any second. Something must have come up in the dressing room. Surely a bridesmaid or someone was coming to tell them everything was fine. She'd be here in just a moment.

But the whispers only grew louder. Who was she anyway? Probably left him before things could get too crazy. Pity, it was, that the Stilinski line would end with Stiles since he couldn't even find a bride willing to marry him. Luckily Noah had died years ago or think how sad he'd be to know he'd never have grandchildren.

Stiles kept craning his neck, looking for the woman he was meant to be marrying. He was mortified and embarrassed and ashamed all at once. How could the love of his life not appear? Then he spotted someone in the back row, someone he couldn't quite make out, but they were rugged and handsome and most definitely male, and Stiles' stupid heart kept hoping they'd be the one walking down the aisle. His shame grew, and he stood at the alter, trying to change his own mind about the man in the back row.

He had to marry a woman, he told himself. He'd gotten his title back. He had to produce an heir! Otherwise what was the point?!

But his fiancé never showed up, and the whispers were growing louder, and the handsome man in the back row got up to leave, and Stiles called out for him to stop! Just wait! Come back! The whispers were a roar of noise. He covered his ears, but he couldn't block them out! Why didn't the bride appear? What was wrong with Stiles? Was he to be the last Stilinski?

No! He tried to scream but no one heard him. No, he wouldn't let his father down that way! He got the title back! He couldn't let it end with him! And yet… the handsome man was stepping out of the church, and Stiles felt like he was going to break into a million tiny pieces if he let it happen.

"Derek!"

He awoke with a start and a sharp intake of breath. Before he could take in his surroundings, he was already checking the door. It was not the entrance to the church, and there was no handsome stranger, but he still felt the panic rise in him. He jumped from his bed and rushed the door. The hallway beyond was dark and silent, but he checked down it anyway. There was no one there.

There was no one there.

Stiles returned to his room and slowly shut the door. He fisted his hands in his hair and slid down the door until he was sitting. He'd had the dream four times – each night since Allison had left for home – and every time the panic felt worse. The dream felt more real.

He didn't want to get married to a rich young lady. But if he didn't marry a lady, he wouldn't have children, and then the dream would be a reality. His family name would die off. His title wouldn't be able to be passed down. It would be retired, die off, cease to exist! And it would be all Stiles' fault.

His chest felt cold, his heart beat too quickly, and he felt a headache growing behind his eyes.

He was doomed. The weight of the dream, the reality of the whispers, it was all true. And not just that. The stranger in the back, the man he could never quite see – he knew it was Derek, even without a proper look at him. He'd never have an appropriate family, that much he knew, but he'd taken it a step further already. He'd shoved Derek away. Derek may have not returned Stiles' letters, but Stiles burned that bridge when he told Lady Cora that he didn't want to see Derek anymore. He'd effectively pushed Derek out the door and slammed it behind him!

He'd lived for five years without the hope of passing on his title, and he'd lived for five years expecting to die in the Argent Estate, single and barely missed. But he'd had a taste of freedom now. He'd had a taste of hope. He cursed hope as his head began to spin. Now he had things to lose. Now he had people to disappoint. Now he had a whole county depending on him being able to keep his shit together, and he was going to fail.

And he'd already lost so much.

It hurt.

Panting, he crawled his way toward the bed, his arms and hands shaking. He couldn't tell time. He could barely judge distance. When he finally set a shivering hand on the bed frame, he felt thoroughly exhausted. His brain hadn't shut up, and all the whispers of his dream kept circling on repeat in his mind. Even as he tried to quell them with logic and positivity, they swirled and drowned him out.

He could ask Scott for help as a Baron. He could ask for a letter of writ, assigning his title to someone he trusted – like Allison or Scott, he had all those lawyers on his side. He could write to Derek again.

For what felt like hours, he repeated these truths over and over, trying to quiet the disparaging voices in his head. Slowly, achingly slowly, his body gave in. His heart rate slowed. His head still pounded. How long he'd been in that state, he didn't know. It was still dark outside his window, so it couldn't have been too long. He felt like he'd just run for miles, though. Or swam the whole of the lake.

Fatigue hit him hard. He closed his eyes and repeated his list of positivity once more. He had friends. He had supporters. He had- He didn't have a lover, but he had that option.

Why, he wondered, were his panic attacks occurring more frequently since leaving the Argent Estate? Why now was he suddenly so afraid? Why did his mind wander to the darkest places when he was finally allowed to walk in bright spaces?

He fell asleep with those questions. He was sure he fell asleep, because he had a new dream.

The clock ticked on the wall, and the world outside was quiet. He was still in bed, but something caused him to stir and look over toward the door. Even in the dream, he was groggy, but he noticed that he was not alone in the room.

Derek was in a chair, sitting quietly beside him. When Stiles spotted him, Derek leaned slowly forward, as though Stiles were an easily startled kitten.

"Derek?" His voice was heavy with sleep. Without letting himself think it over, Stiles reached a hand out to the nobleman.

Needing no encouragement, Derek took the hand up into his own and caressed the back of it with his thumb. "I'm so glad," he said in a whisper. He took a deep breath, steadied himself, and then kissed Stiles' knuckles softly. Glancing nervously down at Stiles, he murmured, "I'm so glad you're alive."

Smiling dopily in his half-asleep state, Stiles slurred out a response. "I'm ssso glad too. Too see youuu." He curled his fingers in without the movement actually registering in his brain, but the feel of Derek's warm hand in his was lovely.

Derek's forehead pulled together in a sad confusion. His big eyes were brooding. "You told me to stay away," he reminded. "You told me not to come see you."

Stiles managed to shake his head, but it only cleared the sleepiness for a half a second. "Mm-Mm." He pushed his hand further forward until he was touching Derek's shirt, over his heart. It was like his wedding dream had flipped upside down. Derek was there, with him, and Stiles didn't want to let him go. He curled his fingers into the fabric. "I missed you. I- I wss mad, but I still… de… down. Wanted to see…"

He felt like he was losing connection with the dream, with all conscious thought. It was like swimming through a fog.

Derek's hand found his hair and began to pet him, which did not help the loss of consciousness. "If that's true," he said, as if Stiles had made any sense at all with his last attempt at speech, "then why didn't you write to tell me that? I would have come. For you, I would have come."

Stiles shrugged lazily. "I did," he mumbled, his eyes unable to stay open. " 's in the… desk."

The dream fell apart. He was swimming in a cacophony of old conversations with Derek, interspersed with the conversations he'd always wanted to have. He dreamt of conversations at the theater, before the mysterious caller had turned out to be the duchess. He dreamt of meeting Derek outside the courthouse and then suddenly dancing with him. The conversation was always the same, some variation of Stiles trying to tell Derek how he regretted not sending his letter, how he wanted Derek to visit, how he was sorry for being angry when Derek was probably just in shock. But he lost connection with each dream before he could hear Derek's responses, before he could catch a glimpse of that beautiful smile.

He woke late in the morning. He could tell by the brightness of the sun through his window despite the curtains, and by the sounds of the volunteers with the animals when he went to open said curtains. Curiosity pulled at him. No one had come to wake him. Surely the morning post had been delivered, and certainly there had been some new mail from Goodwater. Besides that, Stiles was hungry. Would there still be food from breakfast waiting for him?

The house was mostly empty as he wandered downstairs. A few servants bustled about, dusting and ensuring the house was insulated enough for the dropping winter temperatures. One lit fires in all the rooms, and one was rolling out a rug to lessen the draft.

The dining room was empty, but a note led Stiles to the kitchens, where a lovely older lady handed him a plate of food, kept warm by a lid and it's vicinity to the kitchen fire. Stiles didn't even leave the kitchen. He ate while sitting on a counter just out of the way of the maids. They smiled at him, a lord eating so sloppily in their presence, and a few even teased him. They'd known him just long enough to reach a joking point in their relationship.

"My lord, would you not be more comfortable at the dining table?" one asked. Stiles, to his discredit, hadn't learned most of their names.

"I'm fine right here, if that's alright with you ladies. The dining room is very quiet and lonely." He wiggled slightly where he sat and smiled at them. "It's much more fun in here, watching you work."

Two girls blushed and a young porter rolled his eyes. Others laughed softly so as not to offend him. A young boy came to the side door then. The door was sawed in half width-wise, allowing the top to open separate from the bottom. The boy leaned over the bottom half and called out for payment for the paper. The porter hurried over, dropped some coins into the boy's hand, and the boy handed over the newspaper. Then he wished them a good day and hurried away.

"Anything interesting, Alec?" one of the scullery maids asked as she finished scrubbing the breakfast dishes.

The porter grunted. "I mean, Baron Posey is funding a new mill that they asked for two towns over, but we knew that. Uh… There's unrest in Gévaudan. The Earl is under investigation, but the paper obviously can't tell us for what just yet. But the gossip in town is that it's for murder." He gave a snort. "I hope they find something this time. That whole county would do better with a new lord."

"Oh, read the section on marriages!" one of the older ladies called out across the room. "I love me some good old-fashioned romance!"

Stiles grinned around his food while the others laughed. Alec obliged. He read out a few of the marriage announcements grandly, as though doing a performance. Plenty of men and woman were newly wed, both noble and common, and Stiles even noted some same-sex couples getting the spotlight. He laughed along with the others, oo-ing and ah-ing at all the right places as Alec read the tiny stories. Then Alec frowned.

"Ah, hang on, there's a goofy posting!" he said in a huff.

"Goofy?" the older woman asked. "How do you mean?"

"Well it says the groom, but then it just says 'has announced an interest.' That's all the information it gives. What's he trying to do? Scare up a bride or something?" Alec dropped into a chair, the arrogance of the posting clearly upsetting him.

"Now, Alec. Maybe he's not had any luck the old fashioned way. He's puttin' his feelers out there in a new way, you see?" One of the maids came up and poked him in the nose, as if that were an example of putting feelers out.

"Well anyway, some of us are single," another woman said, which was met with a hearty cheer from the others. "So tell us who's in the market!"

Alex, with a renewed sense of excitement, stood up and cleared his throat. "Ladies and-," He paused and bowed his head to Stiles, "My Lord." Then he resumed his theater announcement voice. "The Daily Posey would like all the eligible men and women of our beautiful country to know that Lord Derek Hale, heir apparent to the honorable Earl Beacon, is in the market for marriage!"

The news was met with a chorus of appropriate oo's and ah's, and some asking others who this Derek Hale even was. On his corner of the counter, Stiles found himself suddenly and intensely not hungry. He forced a smile when a maid turned to him for his reaction, but then he quickly excused himself while they were lost in the tizzy of the news.


	23. Chapter 23

Derek was… getting married? Correction, he was looking for someone to marry. He, a future Earl, was searching for his countess. Stiles had known this would happen eventually, but it still made him queasy.

He needed to distract himself for a minute, but he couldn't seem to find Scott anywhere. Turning a corner, he found not Scott, but Liam. The scribe's eyes widened slightly at Stiles' sudden appearance, and he tried to turn and hurry away, but Stiles caught him by the shoulder.

"Liam! Good man!" Stiles greeted loudly. Liam winced but then smiled.

"H-Hello. Um. I was actually heading out to-uh-"

"I'm not asking you to write anything," Stiles said, cutting off the excuse. "I'm just looking for Scott."

Liam cast his eyes about for the answer, as though it would be written on the walls. "Uh, he's in the study. Mom too. I mean! His mom. Lady McCall. Not my mom." He shifted awkwardly. "But they're busy. Real busy. Scott- Baron Posey says you should go for a walk. –Because of your rough night. That's what he said."

Frowning, Stiles released the young scribe and crossed his arms. "How does Scott know I had a rough night?"

Liam shrugged and finally looked nonplussed. "I don't know. I just work here."

"Yeah? Well, I don't believe that for a second." Stiles pursed his lips. "Something is going on. Tell me what it is."

"Scott said you should go for a walk," Liam repeated. "Because he's busy."

"What is he doing that I can't be present for? Is he planning some kind of surprise party?" He tried to use his height to loom over and intimidate the scribe, but Liam had found his nerve.

He pushed his lower lip out in a sign of innocence. "I just know what he said."

Sighing, Stiles ran a hand over his face. "Fine. I understand. You're not going to budge. Damn. Scott knows a loyal dog when he sees one." He turned his gaze toward the back of the house, thinking about the large yard and its animals.

"Hey!" Liam complained. "Who are you calling a dog?"

Walking sounded boring. Maybe he'd go riding.

"Are you ignoring me?" Liam fumed and tried to get up in Stiles' face.

Stiles put a hand out, smack dab in the center of Liam's face, and pushed the younger man back several steps. "Calm down, my dedicated apprentice. A good scribe must be cool headed."

"You're not my master," Liam grumbled, shoving Stiles' hand away and continuing to glare.

"No. I'm not. You're right. Your master is plotting something in the study. So go fetch him a drink." Stiles waved him off, but Liam only seemed to grow red with anger and embarrassment. He took a heavy breath, as though about to scream. Stiles frowned and pointed to the ground. "Heel!"

Either the volume or the word startled Liam, but either way he deflated back into his usual confused and jittery self. Stiles turned and walked away before the scribe could realize he'd made another dog joke.

Okay. So Scott was doing something in the study that he wanted Stiles not to be present for. Surprise party or secret county work, Stiles supposed he should honor his friend's wishes. That's what friends did, right? Well, usually Stiles would bug Allison either way, but he was a noble now. He should… act… like it?

The yard was alive with a dozen volunteers tending to animals. It seemed groups had coordinated to come out all at once to care for the horses and dogs. Each animal was getting the royal treatment – bathing, grooming, and lots of cuddles. That sort of nixed the horse riding idea. The dogs had plenty of people to play fetch with, as was evident in the tidal wave of dogs running back and forth across their area, playfully fighting over a bone that had been thrown.

Other volunteers were weather proofing the stables, kennels, hutches, and other cages. The temperature was already chilly, even with the sun up. Stiles realized, suddenly, how cold it must get at night and wondered if he should help with the preparations. Except it seemed each area already had someone working on it. He would undoubtedly just be in the way.

Stiles wandered, wondering how exactly someone was meant to play with rabbits, or ferrets, or pigs, since the horses and dogs were currently occupied. He wasn't going to even entertain the idea of playing with chickens. He'd seen them rip a mouse to shreds once, and was not keen to lose a finger.

Fine. He'd just go… hold rabbits or whatever. Carefully. So he didn't drop one and kill it. Or drop it and have it escape. Ugh. He'd just wanted to go riding.

He rounded the ferret house and the rabbit hutch came into view, but suddenly Stiles couldn't walk. He grabbed the ferret house to stop himself from tripping and then took a hasty step backward before his brain malfunctioned and he couldn't go backward either. But he must be hallucinating because standing at the rabbit hutch was Lord Derek Hale!

He was wearing work gloves and filling tiny wooden boxes with hay. As Stiles watched, Derek opened the back of the rabbit hutch and slid the boxes into two different levels. One rabbit stayed in the front of the hutch, avoiding Derek, but the one in the top space dashed from the exposed front of his cage into the covered back to greet Derek with a curious sniff or twelve. With a small smile, Derek pet the animal for a moment before standing back to let the little guy discover his new nesting box. The rabbit wasted no time in hopping in, curling up, and enjoying its new bed. Satisfied, Derek closed the doors and sealed the rabbit away, protected now from the elements.

Derek moved about, gathering the hay he'd dropped while working, organizing the extra boxes and wood, and holy- Stiles realized Derek hadn't just filled those boxes. He'd made them! The extra wood, nails, and hammer were sitting beside him on the grass.

His gut twisted. On one hand, he was happy to see Derek in person, happier still to see him working in the yard with animals. Derek wasn't wearing his normal suits. He wore no jacket, just a long sleeved shirt to keep him covered from the wind. His shoes were meant for outdoor work, not style. He looked closer to the mailman he'd posed as all those months ago than to the noble he was meant to be. He still looked unfairly handsome, though.

On the other hand, Stiles was confused and still a little hurt. Why was Derek there? And he still had no answer to why Derek hadn't come sooner, why he hadn't written. Stiles took a hesitant step forward, fighting himself on whether he should call out to Derek, should talk to him face to face. Or he could turn and run away.

Scott popped into his mind and he cursed softly. His friend had known Derek was there volunteering. Take a walk, indeed. He'd known Stiles would run into Derek! This was a set up! Stiles didn't know if he was angry or impressed, honestly.

His cursing, however, drew Derek's attention, and he no longer had time to be anything other than caught. They stared at each other, neither moving or speaking, for several long moments. Stiles could still run, he rationalized. He could still leave. But no, he couldn't. He wasn't that big of a coward, and that wasn't a very Baron-ly thing to do.

"Hello," Derek said, speaking first. He set his gloves aside with the hammer and nails, freeing his hands. Before Stiles could properly admire those hands, however, Derek folded them behind his back and cleared his throat. "I—"

"Why are you here?" Stiles asked, interrupting. Belatedly he remembered propriety and added, "Lord Hale."

The title made Derek wince slightly. His whole face pulled into a deep frown. "My sister told me she'd met you at the theater… that you were alive. I swear—"His arms tensed and Stiles imagined he was clenching his hands. "I honestly didn't know. I don't know why, but none of your letters arrived at the house. I—" He hesitated and Stiles felt like his heart was constricting. "I received word of your- of your departure from the estate. I blamed myself. I left you with those people. My uncle's letter exposed our relationship. I-"

"Relationship?" Stiles asked, forehead knitting together. "That sounds a bit intense for what we had, doesn't it?"

"Does it?" Derek asked. His eyes widened before narrowing in confusion. The downturn of his lips spoke of a different kind of sadness.

Stiles shifted to stand with his hands behind his back as well, because he couldn't stop the way he wanted to talk with his hands, wanted to reach forward toward Derek, wanted to shake with pent up emotion. Of course he'd always wanted a relationship with Derek. He'd wanted so many things, but his fantasies were always dampened with the knowledge of the real world.

"Think about it. Where were we going? You're in line to be an Earl, Lord Hale. I was nobody. We didn't have a future together." It hurt more to say it out loud than it ever had to say it in his mind.

Derek shook his head. "You were never nobody."

Rolling his eyes, Stiles said, "Well yes. I know that now. But back then-"

Derek took a few steps forward and dropped his hands to his sides. "You managed, with nothing but ink and paper, to draw me out of the huddled life I was living – losing myself in my work to avoid real people. You gave me a dear friend, and then just someone dear. Even if you'd never gotten your title restored, you have always been someone to me, Stiles."

His name on Derek's tongue made his chest ache, and he frowned against the desire to forgive Derek on the spot. Could he believe that Derek had never received his letters? That Derek had just called him dear? But he hadn't said Stiles was dear. He said Stiles made him see real people, that he found someone dear. The morning news echoed in his mind. Lord Hale was interested in marriage with someone. His stomach rolled uncomfortably.

Derek continued, now using small hand motions for support. "I was so relieved to hear you were alive. I- I'm a bit embarrassed to admit it, but I was a wreck before. Yet I was almost worse when Cora relayed your message. I wanted to rush over here, no suitcases, no belongings, not even a carriage if that would take too long. But you expressed a desire not to see me again so I… I stayed away."

He ran a hand over his hair, took a deep breath through his nose. "I know you're probably angry with me. I came to see you against your wishes. But I'd been keeping an ear out for news of Goodwater. When I heard you'd been officially reinstated as the Baron of Goodwater, I couldn't hold myself back. I wrapped up my business and came to see you."

Stiles felt jittery. "How long have you been here?"

A flush dusted Derek's cheeks. "I arrived late last night." He glanced toward the rabbits, unable to hold Stiles' gaze. "I'm sorry. I couldn't wait for morning. I went to see you."

"You came into my room?" Stiles asked, incredulous.

Derek's eyes went skyward, a sure sign that he knew exactly how terrible that sounded. "I- You weren't even really _in_ bed," he argued weakly. "You weren't under the blanket, and one of your feet was hanging off. You looked- You looked stressed. I was concerned. So I just-"

Realization hit Stiles. It hadn't been a dream! "You-!" He covered his face to hide his embarrassment, but it wasn't helping. "You kissed my hand! You pet my hair! You-!" His throat closed up. The letter! Had he really told Derek about the letter?!

In response to his thoughts, Derek reached a hand into his pocket and produced a folded slip of paper. It was Stiles' letter that he'd hidden in the desk, the only one he'd never tried to send. Stiles' heart beat was out of control. Was he excited? Or just embarrassed?

"I think there's been a misunderstanding," Derek began quietly. "You wrote that you once dreamt of living in my shadow, or of living with me but without my affection."

"I was drunk on emotion when I wrote that letter," Stiles rushed out. "I'd just found out who killed my father and that I was a Baron and-"

"You would never have had to live those lives," Derek continued regardless. Stiles' heart sank at the words and he reminded himself that he had sworn not to cry over Derek Hale anymore. "From the moment we met in person- no, that is a fanciful thought. When you asked me for a kiss. I believe that was the moment I realized I wanted you in my life for as long as I could have you. You told me then that our positions in life didn't matter to you – that you wanted me either way. Well, I'm telling you now that I felt the same way."

"Derek-" Stiles pressed his lips together. He didn't even know what he wanted to say. He'd told Derek the truth in that study, but he'd also had a long time to think about things since then. "I have a title now," he said, forlorn. "Things are different."

"Not for me." Derek frowned. "One title or twelve – there are ways to manage counties without living in them. You're doing it right now."

This conversation seemed to be heading in a direction Stiles wasn't sure he was prepared for. Was Derek suggesting they start courting? Or continue their previous secret flirtations? Or was he speaking entirely in past tense?

One thing was solid in his mind though. If Stiles was going to admit that it wasn't Derek's fault about the letters and the not visiting and all the things Stiles had held against him, if he was going to let Derek back in, then he didn't want to just continue their old trysts. He would want everything, because there was nothing in his way now… unless Derek didn't want the same.

Derek stepped closer, but he was still not close enough to touch. Stiles felt the space between them like the lake between Goodwater and Gévaudan.

"If I asked you to let me back into your heart, would you?" Derek asked, voice soft and cautious.

The lump in Stiles' throat put up a fight when he tried to swallow it down. He cleared his throat several times and then took a deep breath to give himself time to consider. But what was there to consider? He'd admitted over a month ago that he'd loved Derek. If something or someone had messed up their correspondence so that Derek didn't know where Stiles was, then it wasn't his fault, right? Derek still liked him. Derek wanted him. Stiles couldn't lie about his own preferences for everything involving Derek. A moment ago he'd wanted to admire the man's hands, for goodness sake!

He bowed low to Derek and then stood again, offering his hand to shake. "It's a pleasure to be reacquainted with you, my lord. I am Lord Mieczyslaw Stilinski, Baron Goodwater. You can call me Stiles."

"You're-… who?" Derek asked, the name throwing him clearly off balance. His nose wrinkled and his forehead knit.

"Mieczyslaw Stilinski," Stiles repeated, slowly and teasingly. He shook his hand in the air to draw Derek's attention to it.

Awkwardly, Derek took the hand and they shook. "Oh. Um. Pleasure," he said absentmindedly.

Stiles grinned, gripped Derek's hand, and pulled the lord closer. It was brilliant watching Derek stumble. As soon as Derek found his feet beneath him, Stiles closed yet more space and put his free hand up under the curve of Derek's jaw, his fingertips just brushing into his hair.

"You never left my heart," he scolded. "I tried to kick you out, but you wouldn't move. You're kind of a jerk."

Derek's eyes shut in a way that reminded Stiles of the study. His fingers on Derek's face, neck, and hair were giving the lord such a pleasurable sensation, but he was fighting it. Then, just like the study, Derek opened his eyes and leaned forward. They kissed in the shadow of the ferret hutch, as private as one could be in the midst of a dozen volunteers.

"You scared me," Derek grunted out when they parted, but only far enough away so they could rest foreheads together. One of Derek's hands was on Stiles' face while the other did what could only be called 'searching for wounds'. It moved every few seconds, up and down Stiles' side, over his back, and around his arms. "You don't know. I was- They told me you were dead. It was my fault. I-"

Stiles kept both hands on Derek's neck, because if he let his hands wander then a ferret hutch wouldn't be enough cover. "It was Gerard's fault," he said, using the man's first name instead of his honorable title. "I tried to fight him, but he got in a good hit with the stairs. Anyway, I'm well recovered now. I'll be alright."

Sure, he still ached from time to time, and he was still under orders not to strain himself, but it had been almost two months since his 'death'. He was even walking on his own, though he was sure Deaton would frown about it if he knew. Huh, maybe the head wound was why being this close to Derek was making him light headed.

"I'll be alright," he repeated, more for himself than for Derek.

Derek's hands came to rest on Stiles' shoulders. "I'm sorry." He kissed Stiles again.

"Apology accepted," Stiles said, a little drunk on the moment. He wrapped his arms around Derek and held him close, and it took less than a second for Derek to return the embrace.

He was standing in Derek's arms, warm in the cool air. They had just kissed – twice! And Derek had gotten scarily close to asking Stiles to join in on a very real relationship. Not that Stiles didn't want a real relationship – he very much did – but if Derek came out and asked for one, Stiles might just faint. He hadn't been kidding about feeling light headed.

"I think I need to sit down," he admitted. "Can we go inside?"

Instead of speaking, Derek just nodded and began ushering Stiles back toward the manor. His hand never left Stiles' back or shoulder, and Stiles wasn't complaining. He'd missed this touch, this closeness. It was hard to remember being upset with someone when you loved them so much and you were seeing them for the first time in months.

Stiles almost opened his mouth to say that – 'I love you, by the way' – but he caught himself just in time. Derek had announced an interest in marriage, but he hadn't brought it up in his other confessions just now. Did he want to marry Stiles? Or would Stiles be his official lover? And, oh, Stiles still needed to figure out what to do with the inheritance of his own title.

They stepped inside, and Derek's mouth was upon his once more. Stiles, between kisses, led Derek through the house, up the stairs, and to his bedroom. Sure, there was a table and chairs in the room, but they sat on the bed. Derek would not be satisfied until Stiles revealed the proof of his once broken leg – now just a bruise-like mark, and removed his shirt to show the barely yellow ghosts of the bruising he'd had around his ribs.

He touched each one, and Stiles could see him blaming himself more with each spot. Rolling his eyes again, he lifted Derek's face to his own and kissed his nose just to throw him off. "Stop it," he said. "I'm alive and well. Blaming yourself now is like you're still thinking of me as dead."

Eyebrows rising in curious agreement, Derek leaned in and kissed one of the yellow marks instead. The breath caught in Stiles' throat as he repeated the action to the other yellow spots. God, Stiles hadn't fantasized about Derek as more than just being present in over a month. He'd forgotten to keep dreaming of him as physical and passionate. But his lips on Stiles' skin brought back the memory of their last night together.

"Mmm, this is a bad idea," Stiles complained weakly.

"What's a bad idea?" Derek asked, moving his lips to Stiles' throat, his fingers undoing his own shirt buttons.

"I didn't prep for this," Stiles continued, but he found himself helping with the buttons. As soon as the buttons were done, Derek pressed Stiles back with kisses alone to lie on the bed. "God, I missed you."

Derek grinned above him and teasingly paused his hand over the ties on Stiles' slacks. "I missed you more."

For some reason, Stiles felt that statement in his groin and he groaned. "Okay, enough talking. Let's just get on with the terrible, bad idea."

Derek chuckled, but he kissed Stiles right after, and then they finally got to work on removing both of their pants.


	24. Chapter 24

Honestly, Stiles was surprised they hadn't been caught. Any number of servants must have seen them walk inside together, go up the stairs like too excited teenagers, heard the bedroom door shut. Any number of people should have known… and yet no one made any comment or looked at them too long. Stiles heard no whisper in the halls. It was kind of… liberating.

They entered the dining room for lunch right on schedule, both perfectly presentable, and were having a quiet conversation at the table for several minutes before they were joined by the McCalls and Liam. They'd been discussing Stiles' recovery and everything Stiles knew about his transition to running Goodwater instead of the lawyers. He'd wanted Derek's opinion, after all. He had said so in his letter.

"Thank you for volunteering for us, Lord Hale," Lady McCall said as she took her seat. "I'm sure the rabbits will be far more comfortable now."

She made such a point of smiling at the table instead of at them that Stiles knew she'd been in on the plot to get Stiles outside and talking to Derek. Well he really hoped she hadn't heard them in the bedroom, because that would be mortifying.

"Of course, Lady McCall. Your son's rescue menagerie is well thought of in Beacon." Derek nodded to Scott as the Baron sat down across from him. He shifted to sit straighter and somehow bumped Stiles' foot, and that should not make Stiles happy, but it did.

Scott gave him an odd, confused sort of look, like he thought Stiles might be ill somehow. But then both his eyebrows rose and he smiled. "Ah!" he said, facing Derek with his grin. "Yes. The rabbits are more comfortable now."

"I just said that, dear," Lady McCall pointed out softly. Servants, recognizing everyone was present, began to bring in the food.

Scott cleared his throat, face flushing slightly. "Right. I mean, my mother and I had an idea. You have the final say on it, Stiles, of course, but we were wondering if we could host a party in your honor."

"My-? A party? Like a ball?" Stiles forced the smile from his face. He'd been mostly joking when he'd suggested Scott had holed himself up in the study to plan a surprise party. "You think it's appropriate? You think people will show up?"

"I mean… yes." Scott nodded. "It's all over the country by now – Baron Goodwater has come home. Obviously no one knows the true story of what happened to you, but there are rumors. One rumor is that you were disfigured by the fire, so the party will get rid of that one. Obviously lots of rumors involve the Argents, but you can decide what you want everyone to know and we'll all stick to it if anyone asks. But a party is the fastest way to both start and stop rumors. Plus we can officially introduce you to the nobility that come."

Stiles was a bit queasy at the thought, but Derek pressed their knees together in a sign of support, and Stiles knew that at least he'd have a few allies in the mob that was bound to circle him at this party. Scott was right though. Stiles remembered the benefit of balls, and not just because they were generally flashy and fun. They were social gatherings and information hubs.

"Okay." He'd have to do it at some point. Might as well do it now.

* * *

The invitations were mailed out. Liam had a sore wrist. And preparations began. The kitchen needed extra food that day, decorations would need to be put up, and fire pits were constructed across the front lawn to fight off the evening chill that would accompany the doors being opened for all the guests. Seating arrangements for the feast were drawn up. Extra servants were hired to handle the expected load – and most were friends or family of the servants already employed.

Stiles had agreed to the ball, but he'd had one stipulation. Masks. He was already expecting to be swarmed, but if people had to hesitate, had to figure out if the mask was right, then it might slow down the torrent of well-wishers and gossips. Maybe it wouldn't work, but it was the last line of defense Stiles could think of.

They all needed new outfits for the event and masks to match. The day the invites went out, they went as a group to be fitted for their ensembles. When the carriage pulled up, Stiles was momentarily confused. The shop looked familiar somehow, though he'd never been to this area of Greenburg before. He pretended not to be curious about the familiarity for the sake of the others. This was no time to lose his mind.

But when they walked inside, Stiles knew instantly that he was sane.

"Welcome in, my Lords, my Lady." The shopkeeper bowed to them each and smiled extra at Lady McCall.

"Mason?" Stiles couldn't help blurting out. All eyes focused on him and he leaned away on reflex.

The dark shopkeeper focused on him too, and recognition blazed in his eyes. "Stiles? Oh my god. Sorry! I didn't recognize you at first. You look different. You look—," he paused to let out an impressed sounding breath. "You look _good_."

Lady McCall cleared her throat. "My apologies. Are you and Baron Goodwater acquainted?"

Mason's eyes went wide. "B-Baron Goo-?" He looked back at Stiles. " _You're_ Baron Goodwater?" He put his hands on his head as he tried to take this in. Stiles winced. He didn't realize it would be such a shock. Had he really been so un-noble before? "Sorry! Sorry. It's just- Back at the old shop, you were- Sorry. I wanted to- Never mind." He looked Stiles over from head to toe. "Wow."

Stiles gave him half a moment longer to find actual words before he gave up on Mason being coherent and stepped in to explain. "His family's shop used to be in the capital of Gévaudan. He moved here…hmm… two weeks before you came to visit." He bumped Derek on the chest with his fist. Derek looked conflicted, like maybe he was jealous but maybe he just didn't like the lighting. It was hard to tell. "We only met the once."

"Memorable meeting," Scott noted and then Stiles was smacking him in the chest instead.

"How have you been, Mr. Hewitt?" Stiles asked, trying to move on.

"Me? Oh. Good. Great, actually." He beamed and motioned to the shop. "This shop is bigger than our old one. And, uh," he blushed but did not stop smiling, "it has a nice perk. See, across the street is a bakery."

"Do they give you a discount on the bread?" Scott asked, excitement in his voice at the prospect.

"Uh. Sometimes. But I meant there's a baker there- Sorry. You don't need to hear this. You came in for a measurement, right? Let's get to business. Yeah." He shook his head to clear his silly conversation away and then motioned for them to come toward the back of the shop.

A woman, probably Mason's mother, greeted them back there and they began to be fitted. Scott went first, as being the local Baron had to have some perks. While he was fussed over, Stiles turned to Mason once more.

"Does the baker know you like him?" he asked softly, so as not to disturb the fitting.

Mason flushed with embarrassment, ducking his head slightly. "Um. Yes. Yeah, we've been seeing each other for about a month." He let his eyes wander over Stiles again, his shoulders relaxing slightly. "You, uh. You really do look good, Stiles- I mean Baron Goodwater."

"Stiles is fine." He waved off the idea of his title like an annoying fly.

Mason smiled slightly. "Okay. Well you do, Stiles. I don't think it's just the haircut or the suit either. You look… healthier somehow. And happier."

Now it was Stiles' turn to be a bit embarrassed. He shrugged to throw off suspicion. "Thanks. I'm in a better place now, and not just because I have a title. Your landlord really is a great guy. Plus, Lord Hale came to visit me. So, yeah. I'm pretty happy these days."

Mason glanced over Stiles shoulder, took in the group, and then looked back at Stiles. His grin turned mischievous. "Lord Hale, huh? I see. I see. Well maybe you should go back over to him before he rips my eyes out from across the room."

"You should probably sound more terrified when you say something like that," Stiles remarked, but the grin was infecting his face. Did Derek really look that jealous? He turned to look and just caught Derek looking away. Darn. Oh well.

Stiles waved slightly to Mason and joined the group. It didn't matter soon, though, because he joined his mother in taking measurements too. Stiles could be imagining it, but he was pretty certain that Mason avoided taking his measurements and left it for his mother.

After measurements, they discussed colors and styles. Scott wanted something red, while Derek requested blue. Stiles, too, asked for blue – not at all because he wanted to match Derek. Obviously not that. Lady McCall requested something simple, something maroon. She wasn't trying to attract attention at her age. Plus she didn't want to "outshine these nice young men." That drew a laugh from them all.

When all the details had been finalized, they headed home to the McCall Manor. Scott had some Baron business to take care of. Stiles too, no doubt, but he ignored any stack of mail for him in exchange for sitting on the couch with Derek in the McCall sitting room. There was a fire going in the hearth, and they watched it blaze for several minutes, their shoulders barely touching, their hands clasped between them. It was downright domestic.

"I've been thinking about the letters," Stiles said, staring at the logs. "I sent you eight unanswered letters."

"I didn't receive—"

"I know," Stiles interrupted. "But see, that's the odd thing. One letter, I could see that getting lost in transit. Maybe two. But I posted eight. Eight letters, and not one of them made it into your hands. Is it possible someone in your household was snatching them up? None of them should know me, but maybe someone doesn't like me?"

Derek shook his head and Stiles felt it all down his left side. "Only the head butler accepts the mail, or his second when he has the day off. They've both been with our family for years. They wouldn't steal the mail."

Humming Stiles decided to test boundaries and leaned his head over on Derek's shoulder. The other didn't stop him, so he stayed there. "I don't know then. Maybe someone at the post office?"

Derek almost shrugged, but he aborted early when it jostled Stiles. "Maybe. But why would someone at the post office be intercepting my mail?"

Stiles shrugged without issue. "I don't know, but it's been on my mind. Something happened to those letters, and espionage sounds like the coolest excuse."

Derek grunted in response. The fire crackled. Normally Stiles liked to move around, but he realized he could stay on this couch with Derek for a long time with no problem. His nervous energy that regularly had him tapping fingers or bouncing his legs was unaccounted for. He liked it.

"Stiles, how long have we known each other?" Derek asked.

"Um… Half a year? A bit more?" Stiles answered, trying to do the math in his head. He might be off, but it was close, right?

Derek hummed in agreement. "I would be remiss to call that a long time, I think."

Stiles snorted. "Speak for yourself. You're possibly the longest relationship I have ever had. Except for Allison, but you're clearly a different type of relationship. Allison has never seen me naked. Oh. Okay, maybe she has, but it wasn't for sexy times. It was for medical purposes. Don't ask me to explain."

Well that was embarrassing. Stiles groaned and pressed a hand to his face, and Derek laughed softly at him. At least someone found him funny.

After a moment, Derek hummed again. "I wrote you letters as well, you know. I never tried to send mine, of course. You can't send letters to heaven. I only wrote three, I believe. I wasn't thinking very clearly in those days, so I may be wrong."

"Well, I suppose that's only fair. I couldn't even maintain steady consciousness for a week after it happened." He felt Derek's entire body tense up and he winced. "Sorry. I just mean that, well, we'll have a lot to talk about. We both have missing messages."

"You wouldn't want my letters," Derek said with a grunt. He removed his hand from Stiles' and wrapped his arm around him instead. "They were badly written pieces. I was not eloquent."

"I'm sure you were fine."

"I'm sure it was gibberish. But I know I kept repeating the same ideas in each one." He dragged his fingers down Stiles' arm, sending a tingle through him. "I'm sorry." He dragged his fingers back up and Stiles shivered. "I miss you." He leaned his forehead on Stiles', and Stiles was sure his chest was about to burst with a new, intense desire. "I'll make sure Earl Gévaudan sees justice for what he's done to you." He squeezed Stiles in a brief hug and then relaxed almost to the point of letting Stiles go. But Stiles didn't want to be let go. He wanted to be with Derek… forever. "I love you."

Stiles slid his hands under his thighs to hide how he had begun to shake, his nervous energy returning with vengeance.

"Well. I mean. I'm glad you were able to move on," he murmured.

Derek's voice was confused and tight. "Move on?"

Nodding, Stiles pulled his hands free and instead squished them between his thighs. "I saw it in the news – or heard it, rather. Lord Derek Hale is interested in marriage. You don't let a reporter post that in the paper unless you've already got someone or you're trying to attract possible suitors."

He'd been waiting for this conversation ever since Derek showed up. He wanted Derek forever, and he knew Derek had feelings for him, but the paper had been clear. Derek had his mind on someone for marriage, and the post was written at a time when Derek still thought of Stiles as deceased. He'd gotten Derek back, but it was a temporary thing. Now he had to face that.

"The reporter came by at an interesting moment," Derek admitted. "I had just found out via my sister's letter than you were alive."

"Okay?" Stiles wanted to berate the sliver of hope that cropped up in his heart. How dare it show it's back-stabbing self in this moment!

"Stiles…" Derek shifted away from him so he could look at Stiles, but then he couldn't hold the stare and instead looked at their hands, now re-clasped between them. "I know you've got a lot on your plate these days. I know we're different people, with ties to very different places. I… I know that it would be a lot of work. But I'm willing to help you through your struggles, if you're willing to help me through mine. I'm willing to put in the miles and the effort, if you are." He squeezed Stiles hands.

His eyebrows pulled low together and something very near a glare rested over his face as he stared at his hands. Stiles couldn't believe what he was hearing. This, even more than their meeting by the chicken hutch, sounded like a proposal. It sounded like marriage, and Stiles couldn't breathe. Was Derek actually proposing to him?! Of all people?!

Sure, he was a Baron now, but he had issues! Mental issues! And he wasn't very good at his job yet either. And he had no real connections anymore. This was a terrible plan on Derek's part.

But Stiles wanted it. He wanted to hear Derek actually say the words, because he wanted to accept them. He didn't want to have to guess or assume and make a fool of himself. He wanted a clear-cut question, a definition to what they were. Kissing and sex were all well and good, but Stiles wanted a label for it all. He wanted more.

"If I- Would you be opposed to me asking..." Derek cleared his throat, angry with himself, and then forcibly looked up into Stiles' eyes. "Would you marry me?"

Stiles was a little breathless. There it was!

"No," he murmured, his hands shaking even as they were held by Derek's. Derek's whole face seemed to close off, and at first Stiles didn't understand why. Then he went over the last few lines of conversation and gasped. "No! No, you're misunderstanding!"

"How so?" Derek asked, looking off toward the fire with a pout and pulling his hands away.

Stiles grabbed them back. " _You_ said 'would I be opposed'. _I_ said no."

He waited for the words to register, for Derek to think over the conversation as well. He waited just long enough to see the recognition and the realization spreading across his face. Derek jerked his head back to look at Stiles, and the younger man grinned.

"I would _love_ to marry you," Stiles said slowly, making sure every word hit.

Hesitantly, as though he didn't believe his ears, Derek leaned forward toward Stiles. Stiles went easy on him and met him part way to initiate the kiss. Kisses. The kissing. God he loved kissing Derek. And if he believed his own ears, he was going to have the opportunity to keep kissing Derek for many, many, many years to come.

"So," Stiles panted when they paused. "Does your family know? You're a, you know, a future Earl. Doesn't this throw a wrench into, like, succession or something?"

Derek smiled and buried his face in Stiles' neck. "My family already knew about my affections for you. I spoke to my parents about you when I returned home, just before we got news of your death. Succession will not be an issue. My eldest sister has a child that can accept the title when I die. But that won't be for a long time yet."

"And- And what about my title?" Stiles asked, remembering the fears of his nightmares.

"Well you'll still be Baron Goodwater until you die for real," Derek said, not removing himself from Stiles' neck. "After that, I'm sure I'll have another niece or nephew, or you'll have someone in mind. For now though, your titles will have to expand. How does Lord Stilinski, Count Beacon sound?"

It sounded like an aphrodisiac. Stiles quelled his thoughts. "N-Nice," he said and swallowed hard. Derek's smirk was obvious even without seeing his face. Stiles could feel it on his skin. "Maybe we should tell Lady McCall and Baron Posey." Anything to get out of this situation, because it was definitely not appropriate to start making out with your fiancé on someone else's couch.

Never losing his smirk, Derek nodded. They had to tell everyone eventually, but they could start with Stiles' new family. God, this was the best day of Stiles' life.


	25. Chapter 25

There were far more people at Stiles' party than he had ever expected. It wasn't just bachelors and bachelorettes attending with their chaperones or parents. This was whole families, including children. This was cousins and notable gentry, not just peerage and nobility. The McCall Manor was not large enough, so the party had been moved to a huge gathering hall in town. It was usually in use by the entire town for large celebrations – such as New Years or Christmas. Almost the entirety of the town could fit inside comfortably, so it was a much better option that the McCall Manor.

Stiles stood, frozen, just outside the party. He stared at the ceiling and took deep, calming breaths. They were all here for him. He couldn't just blend in to the wall as he pleased. He had to be witty and charming and not a complete wreck when he spoke to people. But he wasn't polished like the rest of them. He'd never been polished. He'd always been rough and rowdy and jittery and really just unacceptably impolite at parties.

But now he was a Baron.

"Damn it," he cursed, unable to control his breathing. He shut his eyes, the music and chatter of the party sounding deafening in his ears.

Someone came to stand beside him and he twitched away, but when he looked it was just Derek. Oh. That was a relief. Derek raised a quizzical eyebrow at him.

"I'm-" Stiles laughed ironically. "I'm just a little nervous. Like vibrating out of my skin nervous. Like I think I'm going to throw up nervous. Like-"

Derek interrupted him with a hand to his shoulder. "You'll be fine. It's normal to be nervous. Just remember to breathe." He brought Stiles' hand up and kissed his knuckles. "And if things begin to overwhelm you, find me in the crowd. I will be your anchor."

"Right." Stiles felt a little breathless, but for a totally new reason. He cleared his throat and nodded his head toward the doors. "Well, I suppose I can't put it off forever. Right? I mean, is it too late to run?"

Derek chuckled and offered Stiles his arm. That was answer enough. Stiles sighed but took the arm. In sync, they slipped their masks down over their eyes.

Derek's mask was black with deep blue accents, like his suit, and stars seemed to have been caught in the framework. His eyes were bright moons in a night sky. Beautiful. Stiles had been convinced to change his outfit to match his family crest and not Derek, so his mask and outfit were rich copper and brilliant gold. While Derek's mask was slim and sleek, Stiles' had three golden feather shapes made of lace bursting from the right side. It was his first major giveaway to strangers – the symbol of House Stilinski: a golden eagle. It was a symbol of strength, of protection. It made Stiles's mask drastically different than the rest of his group. That's a great, big, sarcastic 'fantastic' from Stiles.

He allowed Derek to walk him down the hall, but he slipped his arm away when they got to the doorway. He had to walk in alone. This was his first impression. Without saying a word, Derek understood and took a step back. Stiles took a deep breath. It wasn't going to get easier standing out in the hall. He just had to go for it.

"Everything will be fine," Derek murmured behind him. "We're all here to support you."

Stiles nodded jerkily. Yes. Everything would be fine.

He stepped into view of the doorway and then over the threshold. The nearby families stopped their chatter to stare at him, and their silence spread like a plague until it infected every inhabitant of the room. It was Stiles versus the room of a million eyes, and he wanted to shout at them all to mind their own business. His hands clenched. His jaw tightened. He couldn't do this. He couldn't-

"Distinguished guests!" Scott's voice boomed over the room and drew all attention away from Stiles for a brief, thankful moment. Scott stood near the center of the hall, Allison and her father a few steps behind him. "May I introduce my good friend, Baron Goodwater, Lord Stilinski. Now please, I know you're all eager to meet him again, but be kind. There are dozens of you and only one of him, and we'd like him back with all of his limbs at the end of the night."

Several people laughed at the joke, including Stiles. He felt a bit of his tension ease out. Scott was respected. People would listen to him. Hopefully.

A couple approached Stiles, bowed, and then beamed at him from behind their flamboyant orange masks. Family name… Mahealani? Maybe?

"Lord Goodwater," the man greeted. "How good to have you back. I apologize that my son could not attend this evening. He's… home sick."

Sounded like a lie. Probably didn't want to come. Stiles didn't blame him. He wished he could have skipped too.

The couple had barely finished introducing themselves – yep, Mahealani - when another family joined in, this one in white masks that made them look like foxes. This one, Stiles knew. The Yukimuras. All three bowed respectfully.

"It is good to have you back, Baron Goodwater," the husband greeted. "May I introduce my wife, Noshiko, and my daughter-"

"Kira," Stiles finished for him. He bowed his head to the daughter, who blushed adorably. She seemed sweet. "Pleasure. I'm sure."

Noshiko smiled, and it looked devilish behind her mask. "I see your time away has not been wasted, my lord." She swayed very much like her family's symbolic fox crest, ready to pounce. "Or should we count ourselves among a lucky few?"

Nope. None of that matchmaking. Shut it down. "I would hope any lord in society would at least be worth half the names of the sons and daughters in the room, even if nothing comes of knowing it." Too rude?

Noshiko's smile dropped rapidly into a frown and her eyes were intense. "I suppose I agree," she said, though she didn't sound happy about it.

"Mother, please." Kira clasped her hands behind her back. "Pardon my mother, Lord Stilinski. She's… ardent."

Stiles gave her a grin. "She's just trying to find you a husband. Unfortunately, she'll need to find someone else. I'm sure there are some eligible bachelors in the room for you."

He didn't say he wasn't a bachelor anymore, but somehow Noshiko's curious stare told him she knew his meaning anyway. Stiles and Derek had discussed it with each other and then with the McCalls, and it was decided to hold off on telling others about their engagement until after the party. One announcement at a time.

The Carters nudged their way in next, with twin sons who looked like they couldn't care less where Stiles had been even before his disappearance; then the Laheys, whose son was even more skittish than Liam and far more socially awkward; and then on and on it went. Family after family. Introductions to sons and daughters like an endless line of romantic emissaries. Damn it! He wasn't here to find love!

After what felt like hours, Stiles found his way to a chair. A few more people seemed anxious to join him, and he sighed as quietly as he could, given his extreme dislike of the situation. Derek floated into existence and took the seat beside him, and somehow it gave Stiles a bubble of defense. The families who had been eyeing him kept their distance. Was this the presence of an Earl?

Speaking of-

"Derek, are your relatives joining us? I forgot to ask." He glanced around the room for a sign of the duchess' huntress, but he could identify very few people through their masks from this distance.

"Eventually," Derek said. He leaned in toward Stiles. "My father may not be a prince or a duke, but he understood his presence would draw attention away from you. He will show up in an hour, and that should give you the break you want."

Nodding, Stiles slouched. "Thank you." Derek smiled and cleared his throat in warning. With a deep breath, Stiles straightened up. Barons did not slouch in public. Darn it.

Then, despite the bubble of Derek's influence, a man and woman approached. Despite the masks, Stiles actually recognized the man and stood quickly to bow his head. These were not nobility or even gentry. It was Doctor Deaton!

"I see you've made a full recovery," the doctor said instead of a normal greeting. He bowed low, and the woman with him did the same.

"The leg is still a bit sore, but it's nearly perfect. Thank you for your service, Doctor." Stiles glanced away from Deaton to the dark skinned, beautiful woman beside him. Her dress was less intense than other party attendees, and Stiles had the impression it was not for lack of funding, but for convenience and efficiency.

"Ah. Allow me to introduce my sister, Ms. Marin Morrell. She is an apothecary in Posey." Deaton motioned to her with a look of pride in his dark eyes.

"Only because society will not accept me as a doctor," Ms. Morrell said. There was an intensity to her that struck Stiles to his core. Her name sounded familiar, but he failed to think of why. "You seem stressed, my lord. Is everything alright?"

Stiles snorted. Oops. "Well, if I'm honest, I absolutely hate large parties. I don't trust people normally, and everyone here just wants me to marry their kids or to get the gossip of where I've been for five years. I'm tired, hungry, and a little overloaded, which is entirely to blame for why I've just admitted all of this to you. God, I am terrible at this." He cast a desperate look to Derek, who smiled but sighed in resignation.

"Do excuse us, doctors. I suppose it's time to find the guest of honor a snack." Derek rose from his chair and started to lead Stiles away by the elbow.

Ms. Morrell's hand grabbed onto his other arm with a surprising force, causing them to halt in their procession. She stared hard into his eyes and spoke quietly so that Stiles doubted even Derek or Deaton could hear beside them. "Be careful, my lord. Your instincts are not wrong. Whatever happens… keep fighting."

Eyebrows knitting, Stiles opened his mouth to question her, but she turned and strode away into the party. Doctor Deaton gave a final bow and then followed after her. That had been way too ominous. Stiles liked that even less than the matchmaking guests. Seriously, what the hell?

Derek led him toward the servants serving appetizers, and Stiles snagged a glass of wine from another passing tray. He downed half of it before Derek turned and spotted him. Slipping the glass from Stiles' grip, Derek wrinkled his nose disapprovingly. "Later. You need to eat first, or it'll go straight to your head."

"Trust me. That was the point." Stiles took the food Derek offered anyway and chewed on it with way more intensity than necessary.

Another servant approached Stiles and offered him the last of an appetizer – a small pastry with edible yellow petals for decoration. Stiles shoved it into his mouth with far less tact that a baron should have. Derek shook his head, but he didn't seem upset, despite the company around them.

Derek turned to give the glass of wine away, and Stiles was instantly drawn into meeting four more families. All of the conversations of the night went in similar circles. _It's so nice to have you back. Have you met my son/daughter/niece?_ No, he hadn't, but he'd already memorized their names and future titles, and he was taken, so no thank you. Or the conversations went a different route.

"Well, you're looking marvelously well adjusted for someone rumored to have lived five years in slavery," a middle aged man said after introductions. He was unfairly handsome, even with his bangs falling in front of one of his eyes in a most unusual way. Everyone else had their hair pulled back and styled. The man was Lord Emery, though he'd introduced himself by his first name of Deucalion. Stiles had to admit that somehow 'Deucalion' sounded more imposing than 'Lord Emery'.

"I was not in slavery," Stiles corrected with some annoyance. His heart beat felt too fast. Strange.

"Well the rumor mills will undoubtedly keep churning out theories until the truth is uncovered. I wouldn't be surprised to hear tomorrow that you were kept as some ancient bastard's chained up lover." Deucalion smirked at him, but then his eyes began to glower. "I may be teasing, little lord, but trust me when I say that no matter what Earl Gévaudan did to you, you cannot hate him more than I."

"I don't want to engage in a debate on the subject, but I'd be willing to bet our feelings are similar," Stiles said. He frowned, remembering the number of times the Argent family doctor had to come see him. "I was… deceived for a long time, and there was no shortage of mistreatment, but let's put an end to that rumor before the mill spits it out, shall we? No one in the Argent family used me for sexual purposes."

Although he definitely had sex in the Argent house, it also definitely wasn't with Earl- God, even thinking it made Stiles nauseated. His stomach ached, and it must have shown on his face.

"Indeed not?" Deucalion asked, a sweetly curious tone to his voice. "That is a relief to some, I'm sure. But no way you can be held in the Earl's house for five years and not have been privy to his, shall we say, radical methods? His brutality extends beyond business. I know this first hand."

His hand rose and brushed the hair from in front of his left eye. A scar ran down, straight through the middle of his eye, though it was years old and pale as the rest of him. His eye was pale too, ghostly so, and it didn't move in time with the right eye either. Deucalion took notice of a servant just as she passed in front of him and stopped her to grab a glass of wine, and it occurred to Stiles that his left eye was entirely blind.

"Gerard did that to you?" Stiles asked when the servant was gone. "How did he get away with that?"

"Getting a member of the peerage to stand in court before the other families is hard enough as it is, and the Argents never do anything in person," Deucalion said. He tossed his head slightly and his hair fell back over his eye. He left it there. "The trick is following the trail back to the source. But until one of them makes a mistake, until they do their dirty work for themselves and have proper witnesses, there's not much to be done. You must be intimately familiar with this, however. You did end up in a hospital recently, am I right? And yet the Earl walks free."

Nothing about what happened to Deucalion or Stiles was fair or just, and yet Deucalion was right. There was no stopping a member of the peerage, not while they had their titles and wealth to hide behind, and when they didn't do anything themselves, at least not where they could be seen. The world believed Earl Gévaudan had murdered one of his servants, yet nothing changed because no one had seen the Earl do it. He was under investigation, but it would be the servants vs an Earl. Hopefully Lord Argent joined the investigation against his father.

Deucalion might have continued speaking, but the dinner bell was rung and the dozens of guests began filing into the next room, where every table had been combined to seat them all.

"We'll speak again, my little lord," Deucalion promised with a grin that Stiles could not figure out. Either he was being devious or he was being familial. A smile like that could go both ways. Stiles felt a little breathless, but not from the smile.

Shuffling through the crowd, Stiles wasn't sure where Derek had been shoved too, but he'd find the broody man at the table anyhow. Honestly, Stiles was more concerned with the way he honestly thought he was about to throw up. He stumbled, his legs feeling weak, and had to apologize to the lord he'd nearly knocked over. This couldn't be the wine from earlier, could it? He'd only managed half a glass!

He stopped and put his hands on his knees to keep from falling over. His whole body felt eerily tired and his stomach was cramping so badly. He held his gut and groaned. The crowd moved around him, murmurs flittering between them like hummingbirds. But Stiles couldn't focus on the indignation he'd usually feel. He was too dizzy, and his heart beat was so fast. What- What was happening to him? This was no panic attack. Wh-Where-

"Derek," he gasped, knocking his mask off to let air get to his face. He needed a breeze. He needed to sit down. He-

A hand snatched his up, jerking him back to standing. For a brief, hopeful moment, Stiles thought it was Derek, but then he went cold. It was a woman, and they were alone in the hall. Her mask was silver and curly, the nose giving a feline impression, but it didn't hide who she was from Stiles. He'd seen her too often, in too many settings.

"K-Kate?" Why could he not get a breath?

She smiled deviously. "I'm so glad the news of your death was unsubstantiated." Her grip on his hand was painful, but he couldn't find the strength to pull away. "I mean, after years of trying to get the leverage from you to gain access to your family funds, I'd hoped to finally gain your lands and title upon your demise. But those horrid lawyers wouldn't give it up. Now they certainly won't – not with the rumors about my family these days." Her smile vanished, replaced with a terrifying fury. "It's all your fault. I'm sure it was you who told everyone. My reputation – all of our reputations! – They're ruined now. All of my prospects are forfeit thanks to you!"

Stiles hadn't told anyone anything. The rumors were probably just servants talking about what they'd witnessed over the years. But Kate would never care even if he tried to explain it. She'd never listened to him. Besides, he had far more important concerns. Stiles' legs felt like they were made of marshmallows. He couldn't support himself, but Kate did not release him. She followed him to the ground, a sadistic look in her eyes. She was a panther, poised to play with her food.

"Wh-What did you do to me?"

"I fed you," she said, dangerously soft. "A concentration of the yellow wolf's bane flower." The pastry with the petals? Stiles gasped, tried to call for help and found himself too weak. "It gave Earl Beacon a scare before, and he only ingested half the dosage you did. But that's alright. He was only my test subject. The real target has always been you. True, I can no longer claim your lands, but if I am to be sentenced to prison or, worse, exiled from proper society, then I will at least ensure my revenge on you is sweet."

She was as mad as her father.

The chatter of voices in the next room carried on, ignorant of the two remaining people in the hall. There seemed to be some confusion, probably people wondering why Stiles was dawdling somewhere instead of joining them so they could eat.

Kate paid the noise no mind. She simply held Stiles' hand and watched as he began to twitch in pain on the floor. Stiles held his stomach, which felt like it was burning with cramps, and whined. He had no strength, like it was being siphoned out of him and into the floor. Another snap of pain and he cried out, a pathetic, weak sound. No. No, he couldn't die here! He'd just- He was a lord again. He had friends. He had a new family. He-

He was getting married.

"Der-"

"Oh, shut up, Stiles," Kate said with a sneer. "For once, close that pretty mouth of yours, and let me enjoy the moment. Poisoning your father was no fun either, because I had to pay someone else to do it for me – the house fire too. But at least this time- This time, I get to see the trash burn."

He couldn't- Everything was fuzzy. Everything was pain. Was someone shouting? Was everyone shouting? It all sounded so far away. The pain was there with him, tearing into him and laughing as he cringed. The weakness was with him, keeping him sedate and pathetic. The nausea rolled around him, in him, but for some reason he couldn't throw up.

Everything was black.

He was going to die.

After everything that he'd been through, he was finally dying.

'Keep fighting.'

Ms. Morrell? Was she speaking to him or was it his memory?

Everything hurt. Everything was tired. Everything was hot.

'Not today. Please, not now.'

Derek? Was that Derek? Where was he? Stiles wanted to see Derek just one more time. Please. Please!

Something cold splashed on his hot cheeks, dribbled over his chin. He was vaguely aware of something being poured into his mouth, and then his body seized up with the need to expel whatever it was. He wretched, coughed, wretched again. Hands on his face. Liquid hit him again, went in his mouth again. He wretched more and let out a sob afterward. His throat was on fire!

No more! He wanted to scream. No more of whatever they were doing to him. It hurt!

'Fight it!' Morrell's voice. Not a memory. 'Come on, Stiles. Keep fighting.'

He gasped, gagged on the air, wretched again against his will.

'Drink this, Stiles.'

A different liquid hit his mouth, ran down his throat. He fought the urge to spew it back out. His gut burned. His throat burned. Why wasn't he dead yet? Why was he still suffering?! Why couldn't it just end?!

"Stiles." Clear as a bell. Quiet as the night. "Fight it. If not for you, then fight for me." Quieter still. "I can't lose you. Not again."

I love you. Stiles felt the words in his soul. Had he told Derek? He'd written them in a letter, but the letter never arrived. He'd dreamt them and thought them and wished them. He'd heard Derek say them in grief. No. He'd never told Derek the truth. He'd never said those words out loud.

He didn't want to die. He just wanted the pain to stop. He wanted all of the pain to stop – the beatings, the broken bones, the hunger pains, the Den, the fear, the panic attacks, the god damn poisonings – he wanted it all to go away!

But it wouldn't. He couldn't get those people out of his head. They'd scarred him for life, in more ways than one, and he hated them for it. But through them he'd met Derek. He wanted to live with those scars, because living was the only way to be with Derek. Maybe it wasn't much to live for, but it was all Stiles had in his final moments.

That and his desire to see half of the Argent house burn.

Too bad he was dying.

Damn.


	26. Chapter 26

Chapter Twenty-Six

Everything was hazy, but he slowly came to perceive things around him again. He could see walls, the décor of a room, the outline of someone's coat on a chair. Someone's hand was tugging through his hair, shaking and failing at being gentle.

His own shaking hand rose up to stop the pulling, though it felt like it weighed a hundred pounds. "Ouch."

"Stiles?! Oh my god. Ms. Morrell! Stiles? Can you hear me?"

It was Allison. When had she gotten to his side? Shouldn't she be with Scott? Belatedly, he nodded in answer to her question. His throat still burned and he didn't trust himself to speak without causing himself more pain.

Allison began carding her fingers through his hair again, gentler this time. Stiles closed his eyes once more, enjoying the sensation. "Thank God. Thank God. You were poisoned. Do you remember?"

Someone was touching his chest, his stomach, but he couldn't bring himself to care who or why. Poison? The yellow flower pastry. Katherine Argent in a silver mask. Stiles squeezed his eyes shut tighter and let out an angry groan. That bitch. "K-Kate," he croaked.

"Yes." Allison's voice was venom. "We found you in the hall with her over you. She ran. The guards took control of her carriage just outside, but she wasn't inside. But don't worry. We're going to stop her, and my grandfather, once and for all. They won't get away with treating you this way. So you just-… You just fight this poison. Okay?"

Stiles nodded again, then groaned when it made him dizzy. And tired. His body still felt so heavy. He wanted to sleep. He wanted… to hear that Kate was in prison. That she was dead. He wanted to hear Derek saying they'd get her, his voice full of vengeance. Oh, but he was too tired to even look around for his fiancé.

"Derek?" he murmured without noticing. No one answered him, and he drifted into a murky blackness.

When he woke up, the room was dark. He felt groggy and stiff, but consciousness was quickly claiming him. He wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not. The return of his senses sent a wave of panic through him.

Allison wasn't there. Derek wasn't there. He was alone! He- Kate had gotten to him in the midst of a party. She'd gone unnoticed by even her family. She'd managed to send the only poisoned pastry straight into Stiles' hands. She'd stayed with him to watch him die. And no one had noticed a thing! How could they stop her? She was ghost! She was a demented, psychotic ghost!

Was this going to be his life? He couldn't escape the brutality of Earl Gévaudan and his fanatical daughter. Never! It would just be an endless loop of waiting for the next attack.

Stiles rolled onto his side and covered his head with his arms. His chest ached with the speed of his heart and his breathing became more rapid with every passing moment. He felt trapped and tied down. He couldn't get out. He was lost in the ocean of torment, unable to find a surface. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't breathe!

"Stiles." The calm, female voice shocked him. It wasn't Kate and it wasn't Allison. Still panting, he peeked his eyes open and found the beautiful, young Ms. Morrell standing beside his bed.

Bed?

His breathing slowed. Where-? Where was he? His eyes skittered around the room. It wasn't his room at the McCall Manor. Though it was different from the room he'd first woken up in almost three months ago, Stiles was certain he was in another private room at the hospital. The furnishings were similar – stale white curtains, a table with a poorly concealed medical tray, and a room divider to block him from view if the doctors needed to remove his clothes. But there were more plants than he was used to – as in dozens of them. They weren't get-well gifts either. These were full fern-sized plants in pots.

"What's going on?" Stiles asked, voice weaker than he'd have liked.

"You're at my brother's hospital. Again." She looked unimpressed, as though Stiles had done this on purpose. "After you were poisoned, my brother tried to save you by inducing vomiting, but I convinced him to stop and saved your throat. I gave you a drink of activated charcoal on the scene. It will have bound with the poison and been flushed from your system by now. I think you're through the worst of it."

Closing his eyes against a headache, Stiles said, "I didn't understand some of that, but you're saying that I'm going to live, right?"

"I see no reason why you wouldn't," Ms. Morrell agreed. Stiles groaned and she took the seat beside his bed. "Are you alright, Stiles?" Complete disregard for his title. Fantastic.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm just fine," Stiles said, heavily sarcastic. "I mean besides my jumpiness and my anxiety, and my new constant, overwhelming, crushing fear that something terrible's about to happen."

Morrell smiled and spoke slowly. "It's called hyper-vigilance, the persistent feeling of being under threat."

Stiles laughed a little deliriously and ran his hands through his hair, still lying on his side. "But it's not just a feeling, though, is it? It's real. It's based in fact. It's- it's like it's a panic attack. You know, like I can't even breathe."

She leaned forward and tilted her head slightly. If Katherine Argent was a panther, then Marin Morrell was a snake – focused and controlled. "Like you're drowning?"

"Yeah." It came out a little desperate. "It's just- it's tiring and it won't stop. I'll wake up in a panic. I'll look out a window and panic. I- I was free. I was happy. And it just kept getting worse. I don't understand, and it's… it's agonizing."

She nodded like she understood and closed her eyes. "Your mind spent so much time in hyper-vigilance while you lived at the Argent Estate that you stopped noticing it. When you were finally allowed to relax, the truth of your past reality began to settle on you, and it feels like it's overwhelming you."

"It _is_ overwhelming me," Stiles argued. He couldn't take this anymore. He was tired, and not just because he'd been poisoned.

"No." Morrell shook her head. "It is not. You are stronger than either Argent. You've been through too much to let a little agony beat you."

Stiles licked his dry lips. "But what if it just gets worse?"

"Well, my mother used to say something that got me through a lot of tough times." Morrell reached into her coat pocket with a gloved hand and produced a small, yellow flower. She smirked a little. "If you're going through hell, keep going." 

Stiles, tired as he was, jerked back at the sight of the flora. "That's-"

The apothecary nodded. "This is Arnica Montana, sometimes called Wolf's Bane," Morrell explained. "Eaten in small amounts, the plant is virtually harmless. In fact, it has some homeopathic benefits. However, concentrated doses can induce nausea, vomiting, muscle weakness, a rapid heart rate, and eventually death. This is the herb Katherine Argent used on you."

"How- How do you know what she poisoned me with?" Stiles' heart rate was up again, but he doubted it was from the plant anymore.

"Simple." Morrell dropped the flower to the floor. "I'm the one who sold it to her."

She did not look repentant. She didn't even look nervous about her admission. So far, she'd seemed to be comforting Stiles, counseling him even, but she was working for Lady Katherine. Had she come to finish the job? She was an apothecary. She could easily send him off in his weakened state.

"A colleague of mine sent her my way. She wanted a poison that could kill someone quickly, but that was natural, so it could be deemed an accident. My colleague, Mr. Harris, apparently assisted Kate on a similar venture five years ago, when he procured for her a fair amount of moringa root. Moringa, like Arnica, is herbal and has many benefits. The root, however, is extremely poisonous. The first symptom is normally muscle paralysis, then acute organ failure." She stared Stiles down. "I believe this is how she killed your father."

Stiles couldn't breathe. Should he shout for help? Was anyone else around?

"When Harris came to me for my help, I offered to complete the whole job for him. He suggested I send Lady Katherine a herb known as Wolf's Bane." She definitely smirked then, like she knew a secret. "So I did. It can hardly be considered my fault that neither of them knows that there are two different plants that go by the same name." After making sure her glove was still in place, she pulled a different flower from her pocket. This one had large violet bulbs and a long, dark green stem. "This is aconitum, most commonly called Wolf's Bane. Even touching this one is dangerous. Had you eaten this, death would have been nearly instantaneous."

Brows knit, Stiles tried to follow her train of thought. "So- So you gave her the wrong plant? On purpose?"

Morrell smiled like she was proud of Stiles for his understanding. "Precisely. I knew Harris would follow through with the request, and I could not let another innocent life be taken. The stories Harris told me about Lady Argent… I knew I could slow her down."

She wasn't here to kill him. She had saved his life, long before he'd ever been poisoned. Stiles' heart rate began to slow and even out. In the wake of his panic, his fatigue renewed with fresh vigor.

"I guess… Thank you?" he said, not sure if that was the right thing to say.

Morrell seemed to appreciate it. "You're more than welcome, my lord. I thought it was important you knew the truth. She will not get away with what she's done to you or to your father. Word has been sent directly to the Queen of this latest attack. Lady Katherine was sloppy. There were witnesses, and thus there is a case against her. I will lend my services to the cause as well." She reached forward and gently touched his shoulder. "But you should go back to sleep. Rest. Do you require a sedative?"

"No." Stiles shook his head and closed his eyes. He was too tired for a sedative. It would put him in a coma. "No. I'm fine."

She pat his shoulder and wished him pleasant dreams. Then she was gone. She'd given Kate the wrong plant. She'd helped his body flush out the poison. Now she'd woken him from a panic attack. Stiles wasn't sure if he should thank her again or how he'd even go about repaying her. She was odd, but Stiles kind of liked her, but only a little bit. He liked her brother more, but still not a lot.

Maybe she was right though. Maybe he could survive this poisoning, could survive the panic attacks, could survive the Argents. He'd regain his strength first, then he'd get medicine for the anxiety if need be. He'd take down Gerard and Katherine Argent. He wouldn't let them win. He was too stubborn to do anything else.

If you're going through hell, keep going. Stiles liked that line. Maybe he'd keep it.

… …

The sun woke him next, rays of light bouncing off the walls of his room and making everything white or metallic glow. Yay for white curtains and metal hospital equipment. He was tired of waking up feeling like he weighed a million pounds, like gravity had increased to double its effect. It took some doing, but he eventually convinced his head to turn to the side, to look at the rest of his room.

Finally, though he had been absent the last two times Stiles had regained consciousness, Derek was in view. He was sitting at the desk, his back to Stiles, writing. Stiles' lips pulled up into a smile and he felt at ease despite the soreness of his limbs. Derek was there. He was alright.

For several minutes, he watched Derek scribble out a letter. The lord sighed and put down his quill. Then he set his face in his hands and sighed again. One hand dropped lamely to the table while the other ran up and into Derek's hair. Even from behind, Stiles could see the tension and anxiety. He understood the feelings all too well.

"Hey," he said, and Derek startled. "You're going to ruin your hair."

His voice, just like the last time he'd woken up, was rough and weak. The poison and all the vomiting must have done a number on his throat. His voice was recognizable, though, because Derek spun in his seat to stare at him. Then he was up and striding across the room. He dropped into the chair beside the bed and instantly took up Stiles' heavy hand.

He said nothing, just pressed his lips to Stiles' knuckles. Stiles was beginning to love that kind of greeting. He let out a content sigh, but Derek must have thought he was in pain. The grim looking lord pulled back and frowned darkly.

"I'm sorry," he said, his voice almost as rough as Stiles'. "I don't know how she slipped in. I should have noticed her. I'm sorry."

"Idiot." Stiles curled his fingers around Derek's and then bumped their hands into Derek's chest. "How was that your responsibility? It wasn't your fault."

Derek dropped his head and brought Stiles' hand up to rest against his forehead. He took in a slow, deep breath. "You have to stop doing this," he murmured. He sounded beyond sad. He was distressed. "It was one thing to hear of your death. It was-" His voice caught. "To _see_ you dead. I-"

"I'm alright," Stiles assured, and it felt like he'd been telling that lie for five years, but this time it was apparently true. "Ms. Morrell says I'm through the worst. Tell me news of Kate."

Kate was more important right now. That, and maybe talking would erase some of the hurt from Derek's features. It worked, sort of. The distress shifted with Derek's eyebrows until it was fury, not sadness, that shown from every angle of Derek's handsome face.

Lady Katherine Argent had fled the scene when a servant had stepped into the hall and seen her. The servant screamed, drawing other party goers into the hall. Derek was among the first on the scene, shouting for someone to catch Lady Argent. Stiles, unable to breathe, looked dead on the floor. He'd been pale and unresponsive, but every few moments he would wheeze for air. Deaton tried to save Stiles while Derek initially chased after Kate, but he'd hurried back as soon as the guards were seen seizing her carriage. Derek watched while Morrell apparently stopped the poison from being further absorbed, watched while Stiles started to breathe again – though it was shallow and shaky at best. He'd knelt beside Stiles and hoped to God that whatever the two doctors had done, it had been enough.

Kate's carriage was apprehended, as Allison had said, but she was nowhere to be found. None of the inns had a record of her, though they were searched regardless. By morning, officers had been sent to the Argent Estate, but they had sent back a report that the lady was not at home. The officers stayed in town, watching the estate for her return and keeping the Earl under surveillance.

No one knew of any good friends that Kate could hide with, or of any other property held by the Argents. Stiles had been unconscious for nearly two days, and Kate had yet to be taken into custody. Or even seen.

Derek had assisted with the search for the whole first day, along with Scott and the police of course. And even Liam had been intensely invested in the investigation, so he obviously didn't hold all the letter writing or dog jokes against Stiles.

When Kate first escaped, Derek wanted to rush around in search of her, but fear had won out over anger. He helped transport Stiles to the hospital, made sure he was in good hands. He made sure Stiles was recovering, and then Derek's desire to help with getting justice – or vengeance, the two concepts were so similar for Stiles – won over. He was called to help in the hunt for Lady Katherine Argent, and it took over all of his thoughts. He was so invested that he was stunned to realize the whole first day had passed without him visiting Stiles. He'd heard updates, of course. Allison had sent word to Scott through the day, but it wasn't enough.

So now Derek was here. He'd sent Allison away to clean herself up and to go see Scott. Apparently Allison had been beside him while he'd wretched and heaved, and the hem of her skirts was still murky with it. Gross.

"I've spoken with both Dr. Deaton and Ms. Morrell. They said the-… Are you in pain?" Derek asked, and the guilt and concern was creeping back in.

Taking stock of himself, Stiles considered lying as usual, but he didn't want to lie to Derek. So he nodded. "My stomach," he admitted. "It's still cramping, though not as bad as at the party."

Derek nodded solemnly. "Yes. The doctors said the pain should fade in a few days." Stiles groaned and rolled his eyes. A few days? It was a nightmare. Derek almost smiled at the reaction but it didn't get quite far enough. "But the muscle weakness may last for awhile. Deaton thought a fortnight. Morrell disagrees."

"Does Ms. Morrell think more or less time?" Stiles asked. He was so done with feeling like he'd rather stay in bed.

With a shrug, Derek tried not to sound concerned, but it was obvious he was still worried about the side effects. "You will be able to get up and move about in a few days, but she claims the poisoning will leave you with bouts of muscle fatigue for several weeks, possibly as long as two months."

It was worse than Stiles had hoped, and he covered his face with his hands to hide his disappointment. But on the other hand, he'd been worried the poison would leave him partially invalid for the rest of his life. In that way, he'd actually turned out lucky.

Derek slipped his hand up over Stiles' and gently pulled it away from Stiles' eyes. "Are you alright?"

"No." Stiles squinted at the ceiling, eye beginning to sting. "I'm going to be randomly useless for two months. I have random bouts of panic. I'm mentally unstable, and the people who caused it are still around, trying to kill me or at least make it worse. I wouldn't want to marry me. I don't know why you'd still want to marry me. I'm a complete wreck."

Squeezing Stiles' hand, Derek gave a minute shake of his head. "I will walk with you."

"What?" Stiles forced himself to look at Derek instead of the ceiling. Derek's eyes were as intense and beautiful as ever, and they assured Stiles that whatever Derek was trying to say was sincere.

"If your legs are weak, I'll help you stand." Derek's cheeks were turning red, like he'd been outside too long. "I'm… a bit obsessive. I have tunnel-like focus. You will need to temper me and my morose nature. When someone wrongs me, I take it very personal. I will need someone to remind me not to go too far. I'm also shy of criticism and new company."

"I've been told I share too much and have a habit of insulting new company without meaning to… At least, I don't mean it most of the time," Stiles said, trying to point out his own flaws. It was a lot like self-sabotage, but he sort of felt like he deserved it.

"I think your personality, as rough as some might see it, compliments mine well. I love your random thinking, and your morals align closely with mine." Derek frowned, eyebrows drawn together pensively. "So I will hold you up when you are weak. I will be your anchor when your mind tries to sway you. I don't mind being there for you, Stiles." He cupped the side of Stiles' face. "Don't push me away."

It hurt in such a good way. The ache in Stiles' chest had nothing to do with poison or illness. He was a sucker for sweet words like this, and Derek was surprisingly good at delivering them. He gripped Derek's hand in both of his and took a deep breath.

"I love you," he said. His voice was still rough, and he couldn't find the drive to push himself up from the bed, but he could still tell Derek the truth. "I don't know why you seem to love me in return, but I love you more. You are the first person I have wanted in my life so badly that I-… I would kill for you. I know that sounds drastic, but I would defend you to the end. You know… when I can stand on my own again."

The smile on Derek's face was untainted by worry or guilt. He leaned over Stiles and pressed their lips together. "Let us hope that neither of us will need to kill someone… at least after we take care of the Argents."

"You're not going to kill her," Stiles said in exasperation. As much as he wanted Kate out of his life, he didn't want the blood to be on Derek's hands. Let an officer or anyone else put an end to her, but not Derek. He didn't want to ruin Derek's life over this too.

Derek hummed. "Just a little bit of murder?"

With a snort, Stiles rolled his eyes. "Just a little bit of jail time?"

Derek smirked and kissed him again. "No one would speak against me. Not after the party." Another kiss. "Let's test that theory."

Stiles laughed. "Let's not."


	27. Chapter 27

Three days since the poisoning. That's how long it took for Stiles' stomach to stop feeling like it was trying to rip itself in half. Three days. By the fourth morning, Stiles could stand to eat more than soup, but all anyone let him have was bread. It was aggravating, but he knew it wasn't without reason. So he ate the soup and the bread and let the nurse bathe him like she had for the last several days, and generally he felt like a child.

The fourth day was also the first time he was able to push himself up on his own. He felt ragged and sore, but he managed to sit up. It wasn't that he was going anywhere, but the glass of water left for him was too far to reach while lying down. He got hold of it, but he had to use both hands in order to not feel like he was about to drop it. A nurse spotted him drinking it and rushed over to urge him back down. So, so, SO aggravating. But he did it.

Day five saw him using Derek's arm as a crutch as he got to his feet. They took a turn about the room, and Stiles didn't feel like he was about to keel over. The muscle fatigue was fading, and his stomach only gave him minor pain once or twice a day.

The hospital stay wasn't terrible. Allison visited every day, as did Derek. Often, Stiles would wake up from a nap and find Derek at the desk again, writing endless missives. When he noticed Stiles awake, Derek would let Stiles question him about the business he was attending to. Stiles figured he could wake up every day of his life to this and be happy.

Speaking of business - It seemed Scott was working with the lawyers again to handle Goodwater county while Stiles was taken ill, but Scott still stopped by to get Stiles' input and to check on his best friend. He even brought letters of good will from the other lords and ladies of the country, such as Lord Deucalion and the Yukimuras, as well as some from people Stiles knew personally, like Liam and Mason.

Kate was still missing.

A week after the party, Stiles got out of bed on his own, walked across the room to the small desk by himself, and put his arms around Derek's neck from behind.

"I'm glad you're feeling better," Derek said.

"Much better." Stiles slid his hands down Derek's arms, down to his hands, and tossed the pen Derek was writing with back onto the desk. He slipped his hands into Derek's and tugged until the older gentleman stood from the desk and turned to face him. "May I have this dance?"

With one arched eyebrow, Derek allowed Stiles to move their arms and hands into a traditional hold, with Derek leading in case Stiles got hit with a bout of muscle fatigue. "This seems strangely random, even for you."

Stiles shrugged and then urged Derek to begin the movements. They stepped into an easy, basic waltz. "I need to practice. I haven't needed to dance since… You know, I don't think I've danced in almost ten years. Wow."

"And why the sudden need to dance now?" Derek asked, turning them in a circle and dipping Stiles back.

"Well we're getting married, aren't we?" Stiles asked. Derek gently pulled him back to a standing position so as not to make him dizzy. "It's been awhile since I've been to a wedding, but I'm rather positive there's dancing involved."

Derek chuckled. "You would be right." He stepped gracefully back from Stiles, putting space between them, then led Stiles into a slow spin back in. With Stiles securely back in his arms, he touched their foreheads together. "It slipped my mind. I'll have to call on my sister when this fiasco is over. She's an adept wedding planner."

"Perfect. I'm a terrible planner of anything involving myself. This works out nicely." Stiles smiled a teasing smile and stole a quick kiss.

A gasp at the door alerted them to the arrival of Allison Argent. She was grinning but trying to hide it behind her hair. Clearing her throat as she came further in, she said, "I apologize for the intrusions, my lords. I have a delivery for Lord Stilinski." She even curtsied. How cute.

Stiles and Derek separated with only a mild embarrassment shared between them. Stiles met Allison half way to the door and they embraced. She produced a stack of letters from Stiles' admirers and friends. Some, Stiles noted, weren't addressed. These, Allison said, were from the servants in the Argent Estate who now knew Stiles wasn't dead and missed him.

It was nice to see so many handwritten letters from people he'd come to care about. Caitlyn, Emily, and Jared all sent letters. The house was eerily quiet most days, they said. Lady Allison was gone as often as she was home, off to visit Baron Posey or in school. Lord Argent took strides to be away from his father, so there was rarely conversation in the house that wasn't between servants. Lady Katherine had been the only source of real disruption, storming about the house at times and locking herself in the study at others. But now Lady Katherine was unaccounted for. All of the servants missed Stiles and his chattering ways. He had always been such an interesting addition to their days.

They were all completely stunned by the announcement of Stiles' title – they had been working alongside and joking with and tending to the wounds of a Baron! Caitlyn said she was surprised but it made sense. Emily said he deserved all the perks that came with privilege – how sweet of her. Jared mostly sang Stiles' praises and apologized for minor infractions that Stiles barely remembered. He was, as always, a very interesting young man.

Stiles had a second letter from Mason as well. In his first letter, Mason had told Stiles about his boyfriend, Corey. As he'd mentioned before, Corey was the son of a baker. More often than not, Corey was covered in flour and resembled a ghost, but even without the flour he was rather pale and shy, so still ghost-like. Mason liked him even with his shy demeanor and they had struck up a sweet but subtle relationship.

When Stiles opened the second letter and saw Corey's name written, he expected this letter to include more details about their developing relationship or at least a cute anecdote. Neither was technically true.

"Derek. Allison." Stiles didn't take his eyes off the note. "Kate is heading home."

The two were instantly at attention. "How do you know?" Allison asked.

"Mason's boyfriend. Apparently he saw Kate when making a delivery. He's really good at going unnoticed, so he eavesdropped. She said she was catching the next mail coach home. She needs to see her father." Stiles looked up at the other two with wide eyes. "Are the guards still there?"

Derek pressed his lips tight together, but it was Allison who answered. "I think they drew most of the officers back. There should still be one or two stationed in the area, keeping an eye on my grandfather as much as looking for my aunt, but I doubt more than that. Do you think it'll be enough to catch her?"

A tense silence answered her. No. None of them doubted Kate's ability to slip into her own home undetected, especially after she'd eluded officers for a week in an unfamiliar town.

Although Stiles was still technically on orders to take it easy, he called for the nurse and asked for his release forms. Allison tried to protest while Derek just looked conflicted, but Stiles promised he wouldn't go running off on his own. He'd take it easy, but he had to make sure someone was there to catch Kate. Not him, of course. In his state, she could probably knock him over with a paper ball. But Derek could probably do it, and Derek would go if Stiles went.

Before they managed to finish Stiles' paperwork, Allison and Derek both sent out missives. Allison's was probably for Scott, but Stiles had no idea who Derek wrote to. Before he could properly ask, Derek was out of the room, delivering the letters to the post man and calling for a carriage. Stiles jerkily changed from his hospital gown into his new regular clothes – clothes befitting a baron. He had the fine, silk shirt and shiny new shoes, and his vest was embroidered with golden thread.

"Say, Allison," he began as he finished tying his shoes. She was politely not facing him, though she'd seen him naked before and had definitely been present for him shirtless on several occasions. "I don't know if Scott may have told you already… about me and Derek?"

Allison laughed as she put away the book she'd been skimming through. "I didn't need Scott to tell me about the two of you. You told me yourself, remember?" She turned to face him and leaned back against the small bookshelf. "Are you just saying you're official now? Will he be courting you properly?"

A blush heated Stiles' face. "No. Um. I mean, Derek asked me to become the Count of Beacon." He scratched his nose. "After we deal with your aunt and grandfather, Derek says we'll get in contact with his sister to help plan the ceremony."

Allison's hands came up to cover her mouth, which had split into a wide grin. "Oh my God. Stiles- That is amazing!" She crossed the room to stand in front of him, bounced hesitantly, and then gave in and embraced him. "I'm so happy for you! No, Scott didn't say a word. I'm surprised he didn't let it slip. Oh my gosh! This is wonderful!"

Laughing slightly, Stiles moved on to the part of this conversation he'd been most nervous about. "Well I was wondering… You've been my best friend for five years. You've stood by me and taken care of me. You're the closest thing to family I really have. I love you."

Allison pulled back and smiled down at him on the bed's edge. "I love you too, Stiles."

He grinned at her and teasingly poked her in the cheek, which just made her laugh again. "Yeah? Well I was wondering if you would do me another huge favor and walk me in at the ceremony. You know, present me to society and all that."

She gasped and batted away his teasing hand. Then she grabbed it up again like an apology and nodded. "I- Stiles, I'd be honored." She was practically vibrating with excitement, and it wasn't even her wedding. "Oh my God. This is really happening. I'd love to."

They embraced again when Stiles stood up, both laughing. Stiles was so glad to have her in his life. Even if meeting her had been part of Kate's planning, he didn't regret it in the slightest. In some ways, he loved her more than he loved Derek. But clearly not in all ways. He had no interest in taking her clothes off, for one thing. Or marrying her, for another. But he loved her so much.

Derek was watching from the doorway when Stiles glanced that way. He was wearing a fond expression, his features more relaxed than Stiles had seen in days. Stiles didn't know everything about Derek, but he was looking forward to learning. He already knew how Derek felt about his family members, about his job, about his pets, about the upper class world he was a part of and the people he had to interact with. He knew how Derek claimed to feel about him too, but seeing Derek's expression when he thought he wouldn't be noticed brought it all to life. Derek was watching them with the kind of love in his eyes that Stiles would reserve for close family.

Wow. Derek really did love him. It was astounding. A damn miracle. Stiles wasn't going to let it go. In fact, he was going to work every day to be the person Derek loved most. Everyone else be damned.

* * *

At first, Stiles wasn't sure that his eyes had adjusted properly to the light coming into the carriage from the newly opened door. Surely he must be seeing things wrong, because once again the Duchess of Roden's personal officer seemed to be standing before him. The carriage had pulled to a stop outside of the Gévaudan court house. The footman approached and opened the door, except it wasn't the footman at all. Officer Jordan Parrish smiled in at them, as though he knew exactly how surprised they'd all be to see him and it gave him secret pleasure.

"My lords and lady," he greeted with a deep bow. "Welcome back to Gévaudan."

Derek exited first and seemed the least surprised. Officer Parrish held a hand out to assist Allison on her step down, though she only needed the assistance because she was staring at the man in shock.

"Officer Parrish," she said in greeting and even curtsied upon exiting the vehicle. "It's a pleasure to see you, I'm sure. But- Why are you here? Is the duchess in town?"

Stiles slid out of the carriage, rather literally when he missed the step, but he caught himself and almost made it look graceful. Parrish chuckled.

"Perhaps I should have offered my hand to you instead, my lord," he teased. Stiles pursed his lips, but Parrish was already returning his eyes to Allison. "My lady is at home, ma'am. We received word that your party would be arriving to intercept Lady Katherine, and a request for royal assistance was made. I came as quickly as my horse would take me."

"Just you, then?" Derek asked, an unimpressed arch in his left eyebrow.

Officer Parrish was unaffected by the snub. "Of course not. I have three men with me. They await my orders inside the court house."

Stiles stared at his fiancé's profile. Derek still seemed unsurprised in the slightest, which must mean he was behind the letter Parrish mentioned. That's who he'd written to while they waited for Stiles' paperwork to go through. Sneaky, sneaky. Stiles was almost impressed.

"We've tried to keep a low profile. It's better if we don't spook Lady Katherine and send her running again. I sent a man to scout the house earlier, out of uniform. He reported that she had not been home. We're monitoring incoming carriages and hope to spot her soon, but if all else fails, we will be paying a visit to the Earl in the morning."

While Parrish spoke, Stiles let his eyes wander. He'd never been great at listening to long reports. From their spot by the carriage, Stiles' view was partly blocked, but he could still see the old shop where Mason's family used to sell fabric. Shifting to stand by the back of the carriage, he could see the fruit stand and, in the distance, the theater and music hall. Further down, he knew there would be the museum and a library as well as the bank, the jeweler, and a shoemaker. He knew this town well after living in it for five years.

Part of him grew bittersweet at the familiarity. Most of him was just bitter. It wasn't the town's fault, exactly, for how he was treated, but none of the officials, none of the upper class visitors, no one at all had seen his bruised face, seen his wincing, and done anything to stop it. They all knew how terrible the Argents were and turned a blind eye. But Stiles knew he couldn't blame them. The Argents were terrible to everyone, sucking them dry but keeping them dependent. Money and power kept the Earl safe for years, but not anymore.

"Stiles?" Derek called to grab his attention back. Stiles nodded and moved to return to the group, but something caught his eye and stopped him.

There, down the street. She had a simple, cute hat on that hid most of her hair and cast a shadow over her features. A pair of trousers was incongruous with her hat, but her shirt was flattering and embroidered with flowers. Her stride was quick and calculated, even more obvious because she wore pants instead of a skirt. Stiles had never seen that outfit before, but he recognized the woman anyway. He reached back for Derek without looking and somehow managed to actually snag the man on his third try.

"Stiles?" Derek asked again, concerned this time. "What's wrong?"

"We don't need to wait for morning," Stiles said. He spun around, eyes wide. "She's here."


	28. Chapter 28

The Argent Estate was the same as always. The winter had stripped many of the leaves from the trees, and the ground looked hard packed, but despite the weather change, Stiles recognized it all. He knew the spot that undoubtedly had a half frozen puddle by now, and he knew where the servants would be at this exact moment, regardless of the temperature. The empty, soulless windows of the building still stared out at the world, undaunted, while the shrubbery was looking worse for wear.

Stiles felt a pang in his chest at the familiar front yard and the bit of side garden he could see. That garden was where he and Derek had shared many breakfasts and stolen kisses. This was the house where they had fallen in love. This was also the house that almost killed them, but that was a less important note. He was trying not to dwell on his trauma.

There was an older servant chopping wood in the yard, shivering in the cold winter air. At least it wasn't snowing. He was middle-aged, with his hair uncombed and an old dog face. He was the head gardener, in charge of keeping the fields presentable, even in the cold of winter. Normally this was fine, but his coat seemed to have developed a few new holes since the last time Stiles saw it. Stiles frowned, shimmied off his over-coat, and walked up to the man. Without a word, he dropped his coat over the man's shoulders. The servant startled, and then startled again when he saw who was standing beside him.

"Biles? What the hell are you doing back in a place like this?" he asked with an incredulous look that almost mimicked a glare. He glanced over Stiles, head to toe, then startled a third time and started to bow. "I mean-! B-Baron Goodwater, sir."

Frowning perhaps harder, Stiles touched the man's shoulders to ease him back to standing. "Please don't, Finstock. That is beyond weird. Just go back to getting my name wrong." The two of them had never had a great relationship, but not due to any animosity.

Bobby Finstock was a hard worker most days, and he got really passionate about his shrubs and fields. This was part of the problem. He was insanely passionate about gardening but couldn't be bothered to care about really anything else. How Stiles was treated by the Argents had likely gone unnoticed for the whole first year by the man. He only showed a modicum of notice when Stiles first showed up in the gardens, hiding from Gerard, sniffling and tending to a black eye and a split lip. Finstock had gotten him to his feet and ushered him around to where some other gardeners were pruning bushes. He got Stiles set up trimming a rose bush, taught him all about it in annoying detail, and worked him until he wasn't thinking about his bruised face anymore. It was a nice distraction.

But then Finstock had never bothered to remember Stiles' moniker, always calling him Biles, which just sounded like a sickness. In retaliation, Stiles never called Finstock by his first name, keeping it painfully formal. Also Finstock always lit up maniacally when he saw Stiles, delighted to drag the scribe off to do more yard work and 'toughen him up'. It was frustrating and the last thing Stiles wanted to do, so he often just avoided Bobby Finstock like he carried the plague.

Even so, Stiles didn't want the man to freeze to death. Plus, he was reliable.

When the older man was standing again, Stiles said, "You're going to freeze to death in that coat. Borrow mine until you can afford a new one."

Finstock fiddled with a button on the coat and glanced between it, Stiles, and Derek. He did narrow his eyes then, suspicion taking over. "Hey. Seriously. What are you boys doing here?"

"Come to pay our respects to the lord of the house," Stiles answered before Derek could even work up a good arched eyebrow. "Could you go find the maids and take them to the kitchens for me?"

"But-"

"Please?" Stiles stressed, not wanting backtalk. Finstock had a bad habit of asking too many questions. That was another reason why Stiles liked to avoid him.

Finstock pursed his lips, clearly debating the order, but eventually he nodded. "You better have your head on straight, Biles. I'm not taking the fall for this if things go sideways."

Then he clutched the coat tighter to himself and hurried off into the house. Stiles doubted he'd ever get the coat back, but he couldn't just sit by and watch the man freeze either. Even if he was a weird guy.

"Okay. Finstock is good on his word. He'll get the servants to the kitchen, so if things go wrong, no one will get hurt," he said, turning to Derek and their small army of militiamen.

The look on Derek's face was not that of a man about to sneak into another lord's house to arrest him for abuse and fraud. It was an amused sort of fond look that threw Stiles' entire mood off, because he couldn't account for it being there.

"What?" he asked.

"All of the servants really respect and admire you. You have a way with people, even if you claim not to. I'll bet they all noticed you were gone, even though most didn't know who you truly are." Derek brought his hand to his chin in thought. "You're… magnetic, in a way."

"Yeah, well-" Stiles could feel himself beginning to blush. "Look, now is not the time for saying silly things. We're here to catch a murderer, remember?"

"I do," Derek said simply, still clearly amused by Stiles. He did, however, take Stiles seriously. He motioned for the militiamen to split up. Parish led two men around the side of the house to check for Kate in the backyard or sneaking in through the back door. This left Derek and Stiles with the remaining officer, a Hispanic woman.

Stiles sort of wished they had more backup, like five other people, but he wasn't going to be picky.

They gave Finstock a moment's head start before they made their approach. Stiles didn't knock, just opened the front door. There were no servants visible, neither maid nor manservant, which meant Finstock had probably just grabbed everyone he'd passed. That was fine too. Hopefully he grabbed Jared too, or hopefully Jared was with the horses and stayed that way.

Voices, loud and angry, drifted down the hall from Gerard's study. The three infiltrators had barely set foot in the hall when another door opened and a butler came out. Not just any butler – Reddick, the head butler. He froze when he saw them, then glared when he recognized two of them.

"You-," he began, but the officer behind them stepped up.

Speaking softly, she said, "Sir, my name is Officer Valerie Clark. I am here to see the Earl and his daughter. However, if you say another word or cause a scene in any way, I will not hesitate to drag you before the queen for obstruction. Am I clear?"

Reddick's mouth shut so fast it looked like a bug had flown in. He stared past the officer at Stiles, but he said nothing. Then he slowly inched his way, crab-like, around them. Stiles did his best not to laugh, but he must have been grinning because Reddick's glare was intense. Then he was gone, begrudging and probably contemplating murder himself.

The trio continued down the hall, Officer Clark leading them this time. She paused outside the door to the study and pressed herself up against the wall. Stiles and Derek did the same. Kate was definitely inside there with her father, though his words sounded muffled compared to hers. They could barge in, but Parrish had suggested trying to hear if the Earl or Kate confessed to anything else when they thought they were alone.

Mainly, they were trying to see if she confessed to killing Baron Goodwater five years ago to someone besides a seriously poisoned and dying Stiles.

"-your daughter!" Kate was seriously pissed off. She wasn't even attempting to keep her voice low.

Earl Gévaudan's voice rose up to meet hers, finally loud enough to make out through the door. "A daughter of mine would not have failed so spectacularly!" Something slammed into his desk. "You guaranteed me an increase in wealth, in power! But the Hales still outstrip us in both! What have you to show for your efforts, _daughter_? Five years of work and all you've managed is to lose a scribe and any claim you had to his lands!"

"Don't pin this on me!" Kate growled back. "I did everything necessary! I paid all the right people to put the Goodwater estate into a state of flux. I got the Baron out of the way. I got the _second_ Baron out of the way! You didn't do anything to help with the lawyers, with the paperwork! An Earl? You could have forced their hands. Instead you left me to look like a fool!"

Gerard laughed sourly. "You have always been a fool. Flirting with men to get what you wanted, and yet here you are, forty and unwed. You are a parasite to my fortune and good name. I helped you secure the poison for the late Baron Goodwater. I even employed Ms. Monroe to help you when you believed Stiles to be dead. I knew your brother didn't look gloomy enough to suggest the boy had truly died."

"Monroe?" Kate scoffed derisively. "Your pet intercepted some letters. A lot of good that did us both. Derek still went to Posey! Stiles still got his title!"

"And if you had killed them both, as you'd promised to, we wouldn't be in this position. Now I have officers visiting my house every few days! My name is a joke and my business partners are pulling back. You've ruined this family! I want you out of this house, now and forever!"

"You're disowning me?" Kate didn't sound like someone about to leave. They heard a click. "You think you're innocent in this, old man?"

Officer Clark burst into the room, rifle up and aimed. Lady Katherine Argent stood at the end of the barrel, but she barely spared the officer a glance. In her hand was a finely decorated dueling pistol, the hammer drawn back, the barrel aimed at her father. The two lords hung back, not about to get between several people with guns. Stiles may have followed regardless, but Derek had him by the bicep.

"Lady Argent, lower your weapon," Officer Clark demanded. "I am here to take you both into custody for the murder of Lord Noah Stilinski and the attempted murder of his son, the Lord Baron Goodwater." Ha, she didn't even try to pronounce Stiles' name. He found some amusement in that.

Gerard laughed. "You've come to arrest the both of us? Her, I understand. She poisoned the poor boy. But me?"

Officer Clark did not lower her weapon from Kate, who in turn kept her pistol aimed at her father's heart. "The royal family is well informed of your treatment of Lord Stilinski," she said and Gerard's face fell into a deep frown. "You will both be escorted to the capitol, where you will stand trial for your actions."

"I am the Earl of Gévaudan!" Gerard shouted.

"You are the _beast_ of Gévaudan," Kate spat. "And you have given me up in every possible way. You're not a father, not an Earl. Soon, you won't even be a person. You're an animal."

"Lady Katherine," Clark warned.

"You don't have the gall," Gerard snarled. "Give me the pistol and I'll show you how you _should have_ dealt with the Stilinskis! Give me that pistol and I'll make sure you pay for every wasted effort you spent on that brat, Derek Hale, only to have him chose your _servant_ over you."

"Lady Katherine," Clark tried again. "Don't take the bait."

A shot rang out, loud and piercing through the house. Derek dragged Stiles to the ground, as though dodging afterward would help. But no second shot went off. There was barely the sound of a scuffle. Stiles jumped to his feet and nearly flung himself through the door to see what had happened.

Officer Clark was restraining Kate's arms behind her back, her rifle re-holstered. Kate's pistol was on the desk, the barrel still lightly smoking. And there, barely visible around the desk, was a limp arm and hand. Gerard Argent lay dead on the floor, shot in the heart by his own daughter.

"I said not to take the bait," Clark grunted.

Kate scoffed. "He _wanted_ me to shoot him. That man would rather be dead than be humiliated. We _both_ wanted that bullet to go through his heart." She glanced at the new arrival and rolled her eyes when she saw Stiles. "Oh of course you're here, sweetheart. The terrible irony wouldn't be complete without my greatest failure here to see it. Now you can recount it to your army of servant informants."

"Don't worry," Stiles said, feeling a little empty on the inside. "Your father didn't have a heart to begin with. All you pierced was an organ."

Kate snorted and let her head sag down against her chest. Parrish and the other two officers stomped into view then, the handsome man's face looking white with worry. When he saw the situation, he calmed immensely and let out a sigh of relief. He put his weapon down and came to help Clark.

"Katherine Argent, we hereby place you under arrest in the name of Her Majesty the Queen." Parish tightened the bindings a bit more than necessary. Kate didn't react, but Clark's face winced. "You will be tried in a court of your peers for the murder of Lord Noah Stilinski, Baron of Goodwater; Lord Gerard Argent, Earl of Gevaudan; and the attempted murder of Lord Mieczyslaw Stilinski, Baron of Goodwater. You _will_ be found guilty and be stripped of your inheritance and public standing. Then the Queen and the court will decide your penance."

Kate snorted again. Then she began to laugh, and laugh, and they could hear her ironic laughter all the way through the house as Clark pushed her out and Parrish held her firmly by the bicep.

Stiles watched the door and the empty hall until long after the sound had faded. One of the officers was speaking, saying something about the two lords being needed in court for the trial, about how they'd be summoned. Stiles wasn't listening. Or, he _couldn't_ listen. His ears felt stuffy, filled with the echo of Kate's laughter and a sick sort of static.

Slowly, as Derek's deep voice muffled its way in response to the officer, Stiles turned on the spot just enough to see Gerard's arm lying in view on the hardwood floor.

Gerard was dead. He couldn't scream orders or threaten or call Stiles disgusting names. He couldn't slap Stiles or slam him into the walls or break his bones or push him down the stairs. He couldn't inhabit the shadows of places he'd never been, haunting Stiles even when miles away. He was gone. He was dead.

Kate was in custody, under the eye of the only officer Stiles knew and trusted. She was going to lose everything. She'd have no power, no influence. She'd be locked up at best, never to see society again. She'd be sentenced to death at worse, unable to hurt anyone ever again. No more sweet words and flirty looks to cover up her threats and her violence and her manipulations.

No more.

"-iles?"

Derek's hand was on his arm. Stiles felt the pressure like a bruise. His legs felt weak, and not from the poison, so he clung to Derek as the older man tried to lead him out of the house. Derek was saying something, but Stiles's brain just kept hearing the same thing.

It's over. It's over. It's over. They're gone. They can't hurt you anymore. They're gone. It's over.

He hiccupped and grabbed at his hair, feeling light headed. That's when his legs gave out and he dropped to his knees in the hall. He hiccupped again and then gasped for air.

"Stiles? What's wrong?" Derek asked, kneeling beside him, arm still trying to support him.

"I-" Stiles pressed a hand to his chest, where his heart was beating hard against his ribs. "I don't know. I can't- I can't stop. I just-" He felt them, hot and wet on his face, and it was true. He couldn't stop them. The tears came, and they only got worse. He was choking on them.

His father, paralyzed and dying in his own home, then burned alive just for good measure. His own back, scarred from trying to fight through the flames. His lands, abandoned for years with no reason. His family name, forever covered in rumor and gossip. His body, beaten and mangled every other day for trying to be who he was raised to be, for trying to be himself. His mind- His anxiety and paranoia and distrust-

Five years. It was going to be with him for the rest of his life. But it was over.

He couldn't believe it. Neither could his body, apparently. It shook and cried, and he couldn't make it stop so he'd just have to ride it out.

Derek held him with one arm around his shoulders while the other hand gripped Stiles', trying to ground him, trying to _anchor_ him. Stiles loved that. But Stiles was causing a scene, even in the empty hall, and they weren't alone for long.

Stiles didn't know where the officers had gone, but servants surrounded the pair soon enough. The hall flooded with them, drawn to the sounds. Caitlyn and Emily and Finstock and Jared and every servant of the house, whom Stiles all knew by name, were approaching – slow at first, but then quickly. Some knelt by him, embracing him and Derek both. Some stood nearby, offering their solidarity in silence.

"I'm sorry," Stiles said through another hiccup. "I don't know-"

"It's alright, Stiles," Caitlyn assured him, gripping his other hand. "You're going to be alright."

The irony was that, for only the second time in five years, Stiles was ready and willing to admit that he was not, in fact, fine. He was a mess. He was having a breakdown over being free from his abusers. He was going full on mental. Yet he was surrounded by twenty people, who all knew full well how not okay he was, and who were all there to tell him he would be alright. He would, one day, be fine.

He buried his face in Derek's chest as his breathing became bearable. When he was under control again, he'd be properly embarrassed and mortified and probably try to joke away the awkwardness. For now, he let himself be coddled, because it had been so very long since he'd been allowed the luxury of enjoying anything like this. He hid his tear stained face in Derek's fancy shirt collar.

And he just breathed.


	29. Chapter 29

Like anything political, the trial took far too long to get done. Kate, stripped of her 'lady' title, was held in a solitary prison cell, though it was far more comfortable than anything a servant or beggar would have been given. She was given half-decent food and a warm blanket. Stiles knew she'd been treated better than she deserved when she showed up in front of the court looking far too much like she normally did. It seemed she'd even been allowed to do her hair and choose her own outfit. That wasn't even fair.

She was there for some opening statements, but they led her to a side room for the witness statements. Someone, probably Officer Parrish or the Duchess of Roden, had warned the Queen and other lords and ladies about Kate's effect on the people she'd manipulated. The Queen herself even confirmed that Kate had been removed for the 'emotional well being of persons about to give testimony'.

As this was all undoubtedly a covert way of catering to Stiles specifically, he felt both honored and embarrassed.

Several people were brought in for questioning, including two men who claimed to be the ones paid to set fire to the Stilinski Estate. Their testimony was hard for Stiles to listen to. They recounted in detail how Kate had found them, how she had given them everything they'd need to start the blaze, every step in how they went around the house, avoiding servants and prying eyes in the night, and started the fire in multiple places to make sure it caught on. A different witness, a woman, confirmed that Gerard Argent had given her the poison that immobilized Noah Stilinski, but that all of her contact was with Kate otherwise.

The clerk of the court was adept at his job and had somehow arranged for witnesses to come forward in the chronological order of Kate's offenses. There were other witnesses, implicating Kate in the blackmail of far more people than Stiles, and it didn't take Stiles long to notice that all of the witnesses were from prison – if their outfits were to be believed, at least. Each was walked in and out by guards. Each one looked hungry and dirty. Each one wore the same drab, gray outfit. All of Kate's accomplices had ended up arrested. How convenient.

There were far too many people to interview to hear them all in a day. Lords had other business to attend to in the day, and also their attention spans weren't known for caring so long. Stiles and Derek weren't called until the second day. Derek was called first, being of a higher rank, and recounted the relevant details. He'd known Kate was up to something and asked her scribe to keep him updated. When the letter came full of messy handwriting, he came to investigate and discovered Stiles and his broken hand. He recounted discovering Stiles' lineage and the request to his uncle to inquire about any validity to Kate's claims of debt and title transference.

"I was not with the Argents when my uncle's reply arrived, but Katherine had no qualms in opening my mail. When the late Earl and his daughter realized I had been prying, they blamed Lord Stilinski and beat him nearly to death." Derek frowned, hands clenched tight. "The rumor lasted longer than necessary because of the Argent's continued interference, though I am unsure exactly how they stopped Lord Stilinski from getting word out."

This was answered by the next witness. They'd heard her name in the study just before Gerard had died – Ms. Tamora Monroe. She was a woman of dark skin and short hair, whose face showed no signs of remorse or nerves.

"My Queen, I have done nothing wrong. I simply followed orders," she said. Lord Gerard hired her to keep watch for any letters addressed to Lord Hale and to stop any coming from Lord Stilinski or containing information about him.

"Ma'am," the clerk of the court interrupted. "Are you then admitting to opening missives intended for Lord Hale, reading their contents, then resealing them for delivery?"

"I am," she admitted. "But I have not, and have no intention of, using the information I gathered against the Hales. I was simply completing a task. Lord Stilinski had to remain dead. That's just the way things were."

She motioned to the man who had accompanied her into the room, not a guard but an assistant. He approached her and handed her a small stack of bound notes. Ms. Monroe held them up for the court to see, then turned and gave a meaningful look to both Stiles and Derek in turn.

"These are the missives I stole," she announced, then placed the letters on the table set up in front of the court. "Reading them will have no bearing on this court's judgment of Lady Katherine. They discuss no ill treatment of anyone that has not been mentioned already. However-" Here she gave a pregnant pause, then shrugged and tilted her head as though to suggest what she was about to say was obvious. " _Someone_ in this court room may desire their return. They must mean a great deal to that person."

Bribery in front of the Court of Lords. This woman was brave. Stiles' eyes were on the stack, remembering every word he'd written to Derek. The first letter clearly declared his feelings, and this woman had read it. She'd read them all. He didn't know if he was mad or just a bit disgusted by her actions.

Whispers ran through the lords. The Queen herself called Derek to her side. He gave a gruff but unintelligible response, and then returned to his seat in the crowd. Earl Beacon sat in line with the lords and gave his son a very thoughtful look. The Queen then beckoned the clerk and they discussed.

"The Queen has deliberated," the clerk finally announced. "Your part in the twisted actions of the late Lord Argent and his daughter was minimal, though still illegal. It is the belief of the court that since you neither caused harm, nor instigated it, you will be allowed to leave without any jail sentence. However, you will be fined a small fee for prying into the private matters of a Lord."

Ms. Monroe held her hands up in submission, and then she bowed low. She was no lady, so her bow was sloppy, but it was mostly the thought that mattered.

After her departure, the moment of truth arrived. Stiles was called to speak before the court. Soon he would sit with the rest of them, deliberating on the actions of important cases, cases involving other lords and the various gentlemen and women. His first interaction with this group, however, was this – as a victim of a crime. Great first impression.

Many lords had questions for him about how he ended up in the care of the Argents, about the treatment he received while living there, and about his eventual escape. He tried to speak clinically so as not to feel overwhelmed. "There is a room in the Argent Estate called 'The Den'. It is a bare room used only for beatings." How many times were you taken to the den? "At least a dozen times." Were you harmed outside of the den? "Yes." How so? "Katherine Argent and her father found many reasons to hit servants." Can you describe the worst treatment doled out by the late Gerard Argent? "Well, he beat me against the stairs until everyone I knew believed I was dead. The recovery time included about two weeks of almost constant unconsciousness, followed by two months of physical therapy before I could walk unassisted." And by Katherine? "Katherine Argent poisoned me and intended to watch me die in person to make sure the job was complete."

They asked no personal questions about his relationship with Allison or Derek or anyone outside of Kate and Gerard. At least they were focused on the right problem.

Allison and her father were both called on, then Lord Posey and his mother so they could recount the state Stiles was brought to them in. Doctor Deaton and his sister, Morrell, were questioned for their medical expertise about the state of Stiles, both after the beating and after the poisoning. Not once did Morrell bring up the idea that she had supplied the poison, nor did anyone ask her about it. Clever, sneaky Morrell. Stiles would try not to hold it against her. She didn't deserve prison for saving his life, after all. The same could be said of Lord Argent, though he had stood by for so long while the mistreatment occurred.

The court reconvened every day for a week to get all of the stories and details, and Stiles was there every single day – along with his growing support group of McCalls, Argents, and Hales. After the sixth day, the court closed with the announcement that it would reconvene in the morning to hand down judgment on the daughter of the once-feared Earl. It was all far too long and drawn out, and had they really needed to hear from everyone involved in every error Kate had ever made? Wasn't the attempted poisoning of Stiles enough to sentence her to exile at least? Why even bring the rest of it in to play? The court sure hated being forced to deal with one of their own as a villain.

In the morning, Kate was brought before the court and given a final moment to defend herself.

"You've been interviewing people for six days," Kate said with a tense and unforgiving stare. "You must know more than enough to convict me. Toying with a woman's heart is wicked. I have no pretense before you all, so you should convey the same courtesy to me. Hand down my punishment, but pick a good one. I'd hate to be disappointed this late in the game."

"Katherine Argent, you have been found guilty of murder, attempted murder, coercion, blackmail, fraudulent claim of a title, fraudulent claim of a land deed, contracting arson, and abuse of a member of the peerage." The clerk banged a staff on the ground to punctuate the decision.

The Queen stood then and stared down her nose at Kate, disgust on her features. "I have heard too much about you over the years, Katherine, and yet you surpassed yourself with what I have been told these last several days. With immediate effect, your holdings will be transferred to your family estate, to be claimed by the new Earl, Lord Christopher Argent. I hereby sentence you to life imprisonment here in the capital, where you will be kept in solitary confinement until long after the silence drives you even madder than you are now."

Kate, despite her bindings, stared defiantly at the Queen and gave a low, graceful, sarcastic curtsey. "As you say, _Ma'am_."

It sounded too much like a threat to Stiles, and apparently to the guards as well. They scooped Kate up quickly and ushered her from the room before the Queen could retake her seat. After Kate's sentencing, the new Earl Gévaudan was fined for his inaction during the terrible events happening within his household. He could not be held accountable since he never inflicted physical pain nor ordered the infliction. However, the fine was still enforced, and the money went straight into the Stilinski coffers. Chris did not argue the point. There were a few closing statements from the court, but then everyone was dismissed to return to their normal lives.

Stiles didn't even know what that meant anymore. His life was a whirlwind of changes every few months.

The sitting lords and ladies, and of course her majesty, left the room first. Then the audience of notable persons, including Derek, the Argents, the McCalls, and Stiles, began their walk back to their carriages. Just outside the doors, Officer Parrish stepped up to greet the large group. He bowed to each lord, even tipped his hat to the newly titled Lord Christopher Argent, Earl of Gévaudan, then stood at attention and focused on Stiles.

"My Lord," he greeted with a happy grin. "My Lady requests a private meeting."

Brow knit curiously, Stiles nodded. He ushered his friends on. They were all staying in the same lodging, so he would catch up later. Then he followed Parrish into a much smaller room, where Lady Lydia Martin, Duchess of Roden, was sitting in a plush chair and conversing with her huntress, Miss Cora Hale.

It was a waiting room, filled with several comfortable chairs and couches. Beautiful paintings of nature hung on the walls to give the room warmth, but they were all generic, with no noticeable landscape or landmark to tell where the scene was.

At the entrance of the two men, Cora stood from her place beside Lydia. She bowed her head at her lady then excused herself. As she passed, she grabbed Parrish by the forearm and wrenched him along with her. The door clicked shut behind them, leaving Stiles and the duchess in a thick silence.

After a tense moment, Lydia shifted in her seat, her skirts rustling, and beckoned for him to approach and take a seat near her. He did, sitting down opposite her.

It had been a long time since Stiles had seen the duchess. They had their brief but memorable meeting in the woods, where she had insulted him when she probably thought he couldn't hear her. Then they'd met at the theater, where most of the interaction had been between Stiles and Cora, and he'd largely ignored the duchess. This marked their only time meeting in private.

"How are you feeling?" Lydia asked. "It's a big day for you, and for many others, but we all know who this was truly about."

"That sounds dangerously close to an accusation," Stiles replied and crossed his legs.

"Does it?" Lydia shrugged innocently. "The imprisonment of Katherine Argent will be marked in history, I'm certain. It has been a long time since a scandal this large has occurred. I'm sure you've already considered how this will affect both your life as well as the two remaining Argents. Katherine needed to be put away. Her scheming needed to be stopped. But people will remember this trial for the family it grew out of and for the most notable victim."

"I'm fine," Stiles answered flatly. He had taken stock of himself throughout the trial, and he was confident in that answer. "I know things will continue to be tough. I know I have a lot to work through. If your ladyship is truly concerned, you could always keep sending your personal officer to spy on me some more."

That made the duchess laugh. She hid her large grin behind her hand a moment too late, and he saw it reach all the way up to her eyes. She shook her head. "Oh Stiles," she sighed and rolled her eyes. "Your connection to the Hales is the main reason our paths kept crossing. I sent Jordan to help you at the insistence of my huntress, Cora. Normally she can't stand most people. It makes her rather refreshing. But she took an immediate interest in you when we met in the forest. Her brother apparently spoke of you often, so your wellbeing became a hobby for her."

Stiles still remembered the devilishly curious look Cora had worn in the forest that day. He'd assumed she'd known all the rumors about him from when his father had died. Knowing what he knew now, that glint in her eye had most likely come from all the stories Derek had told her. She'd been teasing him, and he hadn't even noticed.

"So you're saying you have no personal interest in me or my county or what happens to me from here on?" Stiles asked, suspicious.

Lydia toyed with one of her curls. "You're very interesting, Stiles. I can't say I'm completely uninterested in you." She fixed her eyes on his then, a knowing smirk on her lips. "Were you not already engaged, perhaps I would have fought for your time and attention."

Stiles spluttered and stood. "W-Who said I was engaged?" Had Allison spilled the beans? Or Scott? Derek? How did she know? Did everyone know? It was meant to be a secret until after the trial!

Lydia laughed again, this time short and sweet. "You just said I had someone spying on you," she reminded. "Jordan noticed the interactions between the two of you. He knows what Lord Hale told the papers. It didn't take him long to realize the two of you were likely already engaged or soon to be. So should I offer my congratulations now or later?"

Sinking back into the chair, Stiles sighed. "Now?" He bowed his head to her in apology for his behavior, but then he frowned. "Hang on. Did you just suggest you would have courted me?"

She smiled and nodded slowly. "I am bound by my title, so nothing would have come of it, but I think the two of us could have had a fun tryst. I am intended to marry someone of a duke's standing or higher. You understand."

Stiles frowned and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. "You don't sound very happy about that."

"Lord Hale is a lucky man," Lydia said. "Though he will be an Earl in a few years, he is allowed to marry for love. Even had you not been discovered as the secret Baron of Goodwater, he could have made an argument to be with you regardless. The title merely helps. I, on the other hand, cannot marry someone without a title, and a high one at that. A gentleman's daughter may be ecstatic to marry an officer, whereas I can only enjoy his company, not his rank. And a baron might tarry with the idea of eloping with a huntress, whereas I would bring shame on an entire nation for the very notion."

An officer. A huntress. Stiles frowned harder still. "When I was still a scribe, I was convinced I would be happy just to be by Derek's side for the rest of my life, even if nothing could come of it. Even if he could never be with me in public, never defend me in front of the scowls of others, never kiss me in daylight – I was certain I would be happy. I had a small piece of Derek, and I was determined to enjoy it. Though, I learned soon after that I am a greedy man. I want all of him, not just what we can do in the dark." He nodded seriously. "I cannot actually speak for those around you, Lady Lydia, but I'm sure they're all enjoying whatever piece of you they are allowed the have."

"Until they, too, learn they are greedy. All people are," Lydia said. She frowned. "I am." She stood then, tense and cold. "I called you in to congratulate you – on both the outcome of the trial and on your coming nuptials. I have done so. You can leave now."

Stiles stood, but he only walked a few steps away before he stopped. "I know we aren't well acquainted, your ladyship, but you have helped me find everything I have ever wanted. You're brilliant, and though I didn't believe it at first, you're impressively kind. For what it's worth, you don't have to pretend or hide around me. I'll support any endeavor you choose."

She smiled, something small but genuine. "Thank you, Stiles." She motioned gently toward the door. "I look forward to our next meeting."

"As do I," he said. He bowed, and then took his leave. Officer Parrish smiled and bowed his head respectfully when he saw Stiles exit the room. The two men bid each other good day, then Parrish entered the room and Stiles went on his way.

While he walked down the hall, it occurred to him that she had never used his title, only his chosen moniker. It made him like her a little bit more.

Stiles stepped into the daylight outside and squinted against the glare of the sun. He'd sent his friends ahead, which meant he'd need to borrow a carriage or walk. Unfortunate, but he'd gotten used to walking.

When his eyes adjusted, however, he saw a hansom waiting at the base of the stairs. The driver was already up in his station, surveying the street with an air of boredom, and Stiles realized he recognized the man. Squinting down beside the horses, Stiles could make out Derek Hale leaning against the door to the cab.

He caught sight of Stiles and straightened up. He'd waited for Stiles without knowing how long Stiles would take. Stiles' stomach knotted in happy twists. He smiled. Derek smiled back. Oh God. Could this be the rest of their lives? Because Stiles would really love that.

He took the stairs two at a time, in a very unbecoming manner for a baron, but he wanted to be by Derek as quickly as possible. Really, he wanted to leap into Derek's arms and kiss him full on the mouth, but they were in public.

"Hi," he said when he'd finally stopped in front of Derek, feeling a little breathless.

"Hi," he said back. "Everything okay?"

"Everything is fantastic." Better than okay. Better than fine. The only thing that could make it better would be some public display of affection, but that would have to wait until after the wedding. "I love that you waited."

Derek shrugged. "Yes. Well. I love _you_. Seemed kind of logical."

Jesus. Derek was going to be the death of him, and he didn't need blows or poison to do it. He just needed to keep saying sappy things like that. Stiles was doomed.


	30. Chapter 30

Though the trial had ended mid-winter, there was no spring announcement of Derek Hale's engagement. Stiles had come to visit the Hale House before the frost had left, and they'd had a meeting between the lovebirds and Derek's parents. After a lengthy discussion, it was decided that the two should hold off on their nuptials because of the rumor mill that was currently obsessed with Stiles.

It was Stiles' idea, actually. After the trial, a rumor began that Derek Hale's intended was Baron Goodwater because of his intimacy with the case. This then spread gossip of Derek being just an extension of the Argent abuse, someone swooping in to take advantage of the fledgling baron.

Not the best time to announce an engagement.

So Stiles returned to Posey and helped oversee the construction of the new Stilinski Estate in Goodwater. He and Derek ran their own counties – or helped, in Derek's case, though they made frequent visits to each other's homes.

Lady Talia Hale, Derek's mother, was very fond of Stiles and made frequent remarks on how like his father he was, "in every good way," she assured. She and Stiles played chess in the afternoon when business didn't get in the way. Earl Beacon was shrewd, but he also reminded Stiles, scarily, of himself. He took it upon himself to teach Stiles everything there was to know about business, since Stiles' only current education was coming from "no one of great experience". The lessons built on everything Stiles had known from his father and really made more sense of the things people had been trying to teach him since his return.

Learning from the Earl was sometimes delayed, however, as Earl Beacon often decided mid-lessons to take distraction in the yards or kitchens. Stiles loved those moments, but he could understand how others may find it cumbersome. Derek's explanation was that his father and Stiles were of the same temperament and had the same wandering attention. That's why they got on so well.

The spring may not have announced the marriage of Derek Hale or Mieczyslaw Stilinski, but it did have an announcement. The Argent Estate was down to a single Argent as the papers declared the engagement of Lady Allison Argent and Lord Scott McCall, Baron of Posey. This had Stiles cheering for two different reasons. One, his best friend was marrying his other best friend. That was phenomenal! Two, it meant Allison would move in to the McCall Manor and Stiles would never be required to enter the Argent Estate to see her. He'd be happy never to enter the house again, but business might one day tempt him inside.

The wedding was as small as it could be, considering it was the marriage of a baron. They both looked so happy throughout the ceremony, and Stiles couldn't help being a little jealous. He and Derek had attended, but they had not arrived together. Derek's parents stood between them during the ceremony. But this didn't stop Stiles' eyes from wandering over to Derek as the couple said their vows, and his heart beat a little too fast and a little too hard when he saw Derek glancing back at him.

God, he wanted to marry that man so much.

On the day the new Stilinski Estate was completed, Tara was there to welcome him home. Derek accompanied Stiles, but of course he allowed Stiles to be the first to cross the threshold. Standing in the large entry hall, Tara presented Stiles with an ornate box.

"After the fire, workers concluded that the only one to die was your father. They found what they suspected were his remains, and they collected them into that box." She smiled a little sadly. "I've been keeping him safe, but I think it's time he was returned home."

Stiles almost broke down completely. He still cried, but he kept his feet under him and his wits about him, so he was definitely improving. There was a lot of hugging, a lot of thank yous. Afterward, Stiles and Derek toured the house at a leisurely pace. The servants officially began work in the morning, so they had the place to themselves. Stiles found a place of honor for his father in the study, where Stiles could get inspiration from him whenever a county problem left him stumped.

Stiles and Derek had some fun playing with the slight echo in the stairwell, but they got distracted when they entered the bedroom. It was so different than Stiles' room at the Argent house, but not so different from his previous life. He still had no antechamber, so the first thing they both saw after laughing their way into the room was the large, four post bed.

As though they'd both been waiting for it, they promptly broke the bed in with a few rounds of sinful ecstasy. When they stopped for breath, both sweaty and satiated, Stiles rolled himself on top of Derek and sat on the man's stomach.

"You know what I can't believe?" he asked. Derek hummed in response. Stiles could feel it in his penis. "We've been naked together three times. I've dreamt about you more times than I can count. I want you so bad, I sometimes can't stand it."

"And yet?" Derek asked, because none of that was hard to believe.

"And yet I still haven't felt you inside me." Stiles closed his eyes and hummed. "God, we're never prepared, and I just want-" Derek's dick poked at his back and he grinned. "Well at least I'm not the only one who's been thinking about it."

Derek groaned and sat up, arms around Stiles' waist. "Trust me. As soon as we're married, it's the first thing I plan on doing. Until then, I don't think we'll ever be alone and prepared." He kissed Stiles' collarbone. "But I will. I want to be inside you." He mouthed up Stiles' neck and Stiles felt himself getting hard all over again. "And I want you inside me too."

Fuck. Stiles moaned.

They didn't leave the bedroom for a long, long time.

* * *

It turned out that Stiles was not the only member of the court to be fluent in Ancient Latin. His odd little childhood hobby was shared by someone else. The Duchess of Roden herself was fluent, and she looked downright devious when she discovered they had this in common. It became regular for Stiles to receive letters that no one else could even attempt to understand. The Duchess wrote them personally, as her scribe had no knowledge of basic Latin, much less ancient Latin. The same went for Stiles.

The letters began formal and brief, but quickly became long and personal. Knowledge that Stiles was loyal made Lydia take a chance on him, and she told him all manner of things he probably shouldn't know. Mostly Lydia spoke about her relationships with Jordan Parrish and Cora Hale, though she swore Stiles to secrecy about Cora even more considering Stiles was engaged to Cora's brother.

Lydia often worried about how long she would be allowed to keep both of them before either someone discovered them, one or both were harmed because of her, or they tired of being shadows. Stiles always tried to be realistic but hopeful for her sake, though even he wasn't sure how long such a relationship could last.

According to Derek, his usually very pragmatic sister had written home several times about how happy she was in her current position. He was surprised but also very pleased for her. Stiles did his best to convey that emotion to Lydia without completely breaking Cora's trust about what she should or should not tell her brother.

In turn, the Duchess had to listen to Stiles talk about all sorts of things. For example, between running his county, visiting Posey, visiting Beacon, and hosting people at home, Stiles was visiting a woman for counseling. She listened and counseled people through trauma professionally – something Stiles had never really heard of before, but something he knew he needed. Someone who could help him move beyond the nightmares and the panic attacks was someone he was willing to pay a lot of money. Luckily, she didn't even charge much, but she had great insight into how Stiles could calm down whenever he began to get twitchy about something bad that might not even happen.

He also started drinking tea that Allison swore would help calm his nerves. For two months he refused to tell her it was working. He was proud that way, apparently. But the best relief of his symptoms came whenever he visited the Hale House. Romantics would say his heart was calm around the person he loved, and in a way they weren't wrong, but it had nothing to do with romance.

While Stiles was recovering in the hospital from the poison, Derek had written several notes home. Upon Stiles' first visit to Beacon, he discovered what the notes had said. A good portion of the gardens and bushes around the Hale House had been recently redone, switching from whatever looked grandest and most eye-catching into several bushes that apothecaries and doctors alike swore had a medicinal effect on the nerves simply by smelling them.

Rows of jasmine and lavender swirled together into gorgeous designs. Rosemary grew in small window boxes. Chrysanthemums bloomed in bold colors, pulling the attentions of anyone coming to judge the grounds. The yard smelled fantastic, and simply opening the window could clear Stiles' mind of any fog. The rosemary seemed to clean the air, and even with the window shut it felt like he was able to breathe easier.

Derek had refashioned his entire landscape to ensure Stiles would feel less stress whenever he visited, and would continue to feel it whenever he moved in. So maybe romance had something to do with it, but it was probably a placebo effect.

Stiles brought up the new garden in his letters as often as he visited Beacon, but he wasn't always there. Mostly he wrote to Lydia about his own county of Goodwater. The county was doing rather well, with profitability rising every month and surveys of the people coming back mostly positive. Gévaudan was no longer a massive monster across the lake now that it had a new Earl, and trade between the two counties had improved the quality of life for everyone involved.

It turned out that Christopher Argent had never disliked Stiles at all. Right? Color Stiles surprised. It was a suspicious admittance if ever Stiles had heard one. But according to the new Earl, it was guilt, not disgust that kept him away.

"I knew my father and sister had done something, but I had no proof." Chris stood in Stiles' study, facing out the window with a look of shame. "First I saw you and felt pity. You'd just lost everything. Then, as my suspicions of my family grew worse, so did my guilt. Every time I spotted you, I felt guilt for my family's actions and guilt for myself in not doing anything to stop them. I put very little effort into any kind of defense for you or even discovering what their true plans were. And every time they struck you, I pretended not to notice because it was easier than admitting my family had grown so wicked."

He turned back to Stiles, sitting behind the desk. "But when Lord Hale arrived, I saw how strong Allison had become, and I knew I had to be the man I claimed I was. I had to step in. I tried to temper my father during conversations. I dissuaded any doubts he had about your intentions at the time. I thought I was doing well… until I came in from the yard and found you broken on the stairs, my father standing over you. I rushed you out as fast as I could. But I know… One good deed does not erase the years I spent trying to pretend you didn't exist."

"On the contrary," Stiles said, standing. He rolled his shoulders back. "Saving someone's life most definitely makes up for, well, _most_ of the times you spent pretending I didn't exist. I mean, if you hadn't stepped up, I'd be dead. That's got to count for something."

Chris frowned but nodded. He dropped his eyes to the floorboards. "I do not deserve your forgiveness, but I am grateful for it all the same." He bowed slightly, which was crazy because he held the higher rank. "I look forward to our business together."

And business had been blooming. When he wasn't ignoring you, Christopher Argent was a pretty nice guy. Even if he did look like he could kill a mountain lion just by looking at it. How did a middle aged man look so handsome and yet have such a deadly stare? It must be genetic.

Lydia also had to listen to Stiles talk about Derek, which seemed to actually interest her more than any of his other topics. He wrote about how Derek now had all of Stiles' letters in his possession, including the ones from the trial that Monroe had kept hidden. He'd seen Stiles' first confession of love and all of his requests for Derek to stop ignoring him and come visit. Though they'd already discussed the miscommunication and put it behind them, the arrival of the letters sent Derek into a new wave of apologetic expressions and kisses.

Not that Stiles was complaining about the kisses.

His engagement to Derek was not announced until almost a year after the trial had ended – a lifetime of waiting in Stiles' mind. The ceremony itself took another two months to come to fruition.

"God, I feel like I've been waiting for this day for ten years," Stiles complained. He was antsy with nerves. He was standing in a side room at a church in Beacon, Scott and Allison both there to make sure he didn't have a heart attack before the I Dos.

There were more people in the church for Stiles' wedding than there had been for Allison's, but Derek's family was also much larger. Aunt, Uncles, Cousins, Grandparents, Grandchildren, and everyone in between had gathered for the marriage of the eldest son, the next head of the family.

Though Stiles had a title, he now felt like he wasn't bringing anything to the table simply because he had no family. He would pass on his title by way of a law, but his family name was finished. Stiles had come to terms with it mostly. He had to, or it would make him miserable for the rest of his life. Besides, he'd had an inkling of that future long before his father had died. He was the only son of a man not looking to remarry. It was inevitable.

Still, it was imposing to join such a large family.

"Everything is running smoothly," Scott announced. "In a minute, you'll walk out and meet Derek. Then you'll be the Count of Beacon."

"Not so fast," Stiles interrupted. "Derek won't be an Earl until his father dies. All that happens today is I go from being Mieczyslaw Stilinski to Mieczyslaw Hale."

Scott covered his eyes with his hand, as though he'd gotten a sudden headache. "I… still can't pronounce that. I don't know how you do it."

"A lifetime of practice." Stiles tapped his own chest and winked. "Now stop sounding so in charge. I need you to freak out for me so I don't freak out. How long until the ceremony starts?"

Scott opened his mouth to answer, but the door opened and interrupted him. Allison beamed in on the two men and promptly stole all of Scott's attention. He scurried to his wife and gave her a big kiss.

Laughing, she pulled back and said, "Everyone is seated. It's time to start."

Scott gasped and covered his mouth in an almost comical manner. "Oh my gosh! It's happening now! Stiles, it's starting! Oh my gosh!"

Perfection. Stiles laughed as he came over and gently punched Scott in the shoulder. "Be more obvious that you're faking, why don't you?" But he appreciated the effort. His heart was still ramming anxiously against his chest, but the laughter had definitely helped him not to sweat too much.

Allison led them down the short hall and to the door into the main chamber. She looked gorgeous, and Stiles told her so. "You look rather scrumptious yourself," she said back. Then she put a hand on his shoulder. "I'm so happy for you."

Scott left them to join the other attendees, and at the sight of him sitting, the organist began to play. That was the cue. Allison took up Stiles' arm and the pair strolled into the chapel.

There was another door directly across the room, and Derek emerged from it with his mother on his arm. She was regal and elegant and old fashioned. Stiles loved her.

And Derek. Derek was in his full regalia, the Hale family crest emblazoned on his chest, and all he needed was a sword to look fully gallant. He was tall and clean shaven, with a strong jaw and the most beautiful, intense, green eyes Stiles had ever seen. He was everything Kate Argent had ever described him as being, but he was also so much better. Because Kate never described Derek smiling, and she could never have dreamed of the expression on his face in that moment. He was looking at Stiles as though this might be the happiest dream, like he also couldn't quite believe they'd finally made it here, to the altar.

Stiles nearly melted.

Allison stopped just shy of the steps that led to the main platform, kissed Stiles on both cheeks, and then left him to go sit with Scott. Talia Hale kissed her son on the nose and then the knuckles, and Stiles suddenly knew where Derek picked up the gesture. Then she moved gracefully to sit with her husband in the front row.

In the center of the platform, Stiles met Derek and couldn't take his eyes off the man. Derek reached out and took his hands, and Stiles almost forgot they were being watched. Almost. The Duchess was going to hear about this moment for days. Weeks. Forever. It was perfect.

"Are you ready for this?" Derek whispered.

Stiles stifled a chuckle. "Are you?"

The music trailed off, the officiant began to talk, and Stiles did his best to pay attention. In a few short minutes, he would be officially married to Lord Derek Hale. He couldn't believe his luck, honestly. And to think, they'd gotten here because conniving Kate Argent had made Stiles write a stupid, flirty letter. They'd fallen in love through the power of writing and lovely penmanship. Now they were here, saying their vows and binding their lives together forever.

Stiles' heart beat hard and fast as the officiant announced them officially wed. Then Derek leaned in on him, and they kissed in front of several dozen pairs of eyes. There was cheering and flowers thrown, whistles and clapping. Stiles wrapped his arm around Derek as they kissed one more time.

When he was young, Stiles had been a fool and held onto nothing. When he was a scribe, he'd had a weak grasp on things. Now he held firm, and he wasn't going to let go. This was the path he'd fought for. Stiles was finally better than fine. He was really and truly… Happy.

The End.

* * *

An epilogue will come on Sunday night. Several people expressed an interest in seeing Derek's response to some events in this story when he wasn't around, so I wrote two scenes for you. :) Look forward to that! But either way, thank you so so much for your time and comments. You've all been wonderful. Thank you!


	31. Chapter 31

So awhile back some people were asking for Derek's POV when he found out Stiles' was dead and him discovering Stiles was still alive. So I wrote some bonus scenes of exactly that.

The first one takes place during Chapter 16 and the second would take place between Chapter 19 and Chapter 20.

* * *

The air was damp in Beacon as Lord Derek Hale, heir apparent to the Earl of Beacon, rode home in his carriage. The soggy nature of the ground didn't help to alleviate his tension or general disposition, and that combined with his naturally surly appearance to make him look like the most unapproachable bachelor in all the country. Perhaps in all the world.

Bachelor. He felt the inclination to smile, but it didn't get far. He didn't feel like a bachelor. It was true that he was not publically courting anyone and that he showed no affection for anyone outside of his family, but then no one outside of his family was aware of the letters he'd been writing for the past several months. Few at all knew that he'd gone to visit his most hated acquaintance for the sake of the man writing back to Derek.

Stiles. He was a scribe. No. He was an ex-lord. Goodness, he could very well still be a lord and they just didn't know it! As soon as Derek heard word from his uncle, it wouldn't matter what Stiles' current station was, because Derek would see to it that Stiles received, if not his old title, a new title and all the respect and luxury that could merit him.

He'd barely left Gévaudan – it hadn't even been a full day – but he already missed those eyes and those moles. He pressed his fingers to his lips as he remembered how he'd kissed each of those moles the night before. The feeling of them was gone from his skin, but the memory hung around him like the warmth of a fire. Though there had been no penetration, they'd had a rather wonderful night of sex.

Even someone as imposing as Derek felt the blush hit his cheeks at the thought. Despite Stiles' thoughts on the matter, it really had been only Derek's second time being intimate with anyone. The lord had never had a chance to get that far with Paige – the most they'd ever done was steal a few caresses in alcoves and the odd kiss or two. No, Derek would never admit to who exactly had gotten his clothes off. Partly because he couldn't remember why he'd even done it. Sure, she'd been attractive, but she wasn't truly Derek's type of build. Somehow she'd said all the right things, and the clothes had come off. Derek remembered it like being mesmerized by a serpent. He regretted every touch, and even that encounter had not progressed to intercourse. No, he'd pretend that night never happened until the day he died.

But Stiles was different. Derek felt a hazy joy when he thought back on the night – joy and a definite lust. However he had no time to lull in that state. The majority of his mind was taken up by two much more dismal thoughts.

First, he'd left Stiles behind in the household of two nefarious persons with a history of violence against Stiles. How could Derek have done such a thing? He was leaving Stiles to a life of broken bones and hidden bruises and barely enough food to subsist on. Guilt stirred in his stomach, and he could only console himself by remembering that he could go back. In a few days – perhaps as soon as tomorrow – he could turn right back around and return to Stiles. He had to get the disinherited lord out of that place.

He wanted Stiles to move into the Hale House, honestly. He'd be safe and well cared for and respected. He'd be… He'd be with Derek, and that was all Derek really wanted in life at the moment. Surely he'd remember his duties and his obligations soon enough, but Derek would put as much energy into his fantasies as possible until someone forced him out of it.

Stiles would come to Hale House. They would be together for as long as Stiles would have him – possibly forever? But first Derek had to get him out of the Argent Estate, and he'd already failed that once by leaving.

The second dismal thought was the reason he'd left at all. His father, the Earl of Beacon, was gravely ill. He'd become weak and sick two days before Derek had received word of it, and the doctors weren't sure what the cause was. The letter had said last night was the turning point. Either the Earl began to improve in condition or they had to prepare for the worst. He could pass at any moment. Stiles, whom had already lost his parents, had urged Derek to return home in case the worst should come to pass.

The wet weather did not bode well for the situation, but the reaction of his family when he set foot in the house would be the only clue he'd need to know which way the wind would blow tonight. If their faces were long, Derek would need to prepare – not only for the death of his father, but to become the new Earl of Beacon. The transition would be miserable from his father's death and also arduous in the length of time it would take to complete.

Stiles had lived with the Argents for almost five years already, he rationalized. Even if the worst should occur with Derek's father, Stiles could certainly live a few more weeks in their care without too much incident. Right?

Finally the carriage pulled up in front of the large double doors that led into the main hall of the Hale House. The butler opened the door and assisted him out, but Derek's eyes were beyond him. He was scanning the steps and the doorway, searching the visible windows.

"Vernon, my mother?" he asked, glancing finally at the servant.

The dark skinned man nodded, but his expression revealed nothing. "She's in with your father, Sir."

Vernon Boyd was a stupendous and dedicated head butler despite his younger age in comparison with his predecessors, but his lack of enthusiasm about most things made it very hard to read the situation. Though Derek tended to find the attitude interesting, and sometimes even amusing, it was less than ideal for the current atmosphere.

Without another word between them, Derek strode off up the stairs and into the house. His shoes had barely hit the hardwood when his niece collided with his legs. She giggled and mumbled some kind of gibberish while holding her arms up. Derek lifted the toddler effortlessly.

"Where's your mother, hm?" he asked as he looked around.

"Der-Der," the girl said, trying to say his name and patting Derek on the chest.

Laura, bless her, appeared then in pursuit of the child. "Derek!" she exclaimed, coming over to the pair. She held her hands out and the toddler obligingly reached back. Once her daughter was on her hip, Laura looked back at Derek. "You arrived sooner than we expected."

"How is he?" Derek asked, dread settling in his gut.

The feeling dissipated partly when his sister smiled. "Thankfully, he seems to be regaining his strength. The doctor says he may beat this soon." Then she frowned. The toddler cooed and Laura bounced her slightly while she spoke. "I'm sorry we dragged you away from the Argent Estate. I know you were rather invested there. Did you figure everything out?"

Derek shook his head and the siblings walked toward the stairs, which led to the second floor and their parents' bedroom. "Nothing since my last letter to you. I was still waiting on uncle's response when I got your missive." He frowned too, his forehead drawing deep lines. "I'm glad father is improving, but I still feel uneasy. I left Stiles behind."

Sighing, Laura let down her squirming child at the top of the steps. "You did what you could, Der. And you can continue to help when our family crisis is over. You have plenty of time."

"I know." He wasn't sure why that felt like lying.

When they entered the room, the Earl was lying down but awake and smiling at his wife, who was sitting on the bed beside him. Talia Hale, Countess of Beacon, looked unnaturally puffy – a sign that she had been crying, and Derek felt his heart squeeze. His mother was the picture of a strong leader, always graceful and wise. She was diplomatic and balanced her husband, whom had a tendency to be impulsive and rash. For his mother to be crying his father must have truly come to death's door. But she was smiling now, dragging the backs of her fingers along her husband's jaw. In her other hand, she held her husband's hand and was pressing her lips tenderly to his knuckles.

The Earl and Countess looked up slowly to see who had come to see them, and then his mother was on her feet. She crossed the room with all the grace she normally showed and embraced him. "Welcome home," she said, voice soft but strong. She did not sound concerned or wary. That was a good sign. "How is your Stiles?"

Derek cleared his throat. "First, how is father?"

"Father is fine," the Earl barked from his bed. He frowned petulantly. "I've never been better. I want to go outside."

His wife laughed gently. "I'll arrange for a chair to roll you out later. Rest for now and we'll get some good food in you." Talia pat Derek on the shoulder and smiled conspiratorially. "We'll discuss your adventures when I return."

Then she was in the hall, off to fetch a few servants to assist in the task of getting a man outside when he could barely sit up. Rolling his eyes, Derek turned his back on the door and went to his father's side.

"Seriously, father. How are you doing?" Derek asked. "I feared the worst."

The Earl grunted. "I must have eaten something nasty. I was taken with terrible stomach pains and then I couldn't stay on my feet. Your mother sent for the doctor, but he was useless. Said he couldn't account for my symptoms. He's been feeding me junk for days only for it to come right back up."

Laura sighed loudly behind Derek. "The doctor prescribed him a liquid only diet. You know how much father dislikes soup. But it's clearly working, because he kept down his breakfast this morning and the color is back in his face. And as you can hear, he's back to being sarcastic. I think he'll be alright."

"Good." Derek's shoulders finally relaxed and he let out a long breath. "Very good."

There was more discussion about the illness and the medication being used to fight it, and even some talk of what would happen in the very far, distant, almost too remote future when somehow the Earl did pass on. That made Derek laugh despite himself. His father always talked like that, like he was immortal and nothing bad could ever last in their family. His positivity hadn't rubbed off on his son too hard over the years, but Derek soaked it up this time, because he needed to believe that he would figure out his own problems when he left again.

Food was brought up and they ate together, even Laura's child and husband joined in. Laura had married a Viscount, always the example of living up to your full potential, and had a beautiful daughter from it. The toddler was eager to grab anything within reach and provided a much needed levity to the whole situation.

After eating, Earl Beacon was too tired to follow through on his plan to go outside. His illness was still with him, though his stomach let him eat again. The rest of the party dispersed and congregated in the sitting room downstairs.

"Now tell me about your man," the Countess said, sitting her son down on the smaller couch so that he couldn't back away from her or escape her inquiries.

So Derek talked. It was impossible to keep the attention of a toddler, but he knew the other three sets of ears were paying attention, even when the parents had to look away to watch the baby. He told them about riding with Stiles and how they had to meet in secret because the Argents would abuse Stiles if they found out. He tried not to linger on the details of the abuse, knowing full well that Stiles hated being gossiped about, and instead focused on how the servants seemed to like Stiles – at least most of them. A few gave him a wide berth, like his station in life was contagious.

Laura and his mother asked endless questions, with eager voices and open expressions. His brother-in-law just asked how long until Peter's letter would arrive. It was a good question, and not one Derek could answer. The letter would undoubtedly arrive at the Argent household and need to be forwarded. That or Stiles could hold onto it for him until his return, like collateral. The idea was kind of… cute. Derek tried not to smile about it.

Laura and her family departed for the night when it became obvious that their little girl was too tired to be practical. Derek gave them each a hug, and a kiss on the head for his niece, and then they were gone. His mother stood then too, a tired sigh seeping out of her.

"Perhaps we should all retire," she suggested. Try as she may, she couldn't hide the teasing grin that wanted to pull across her face. "I believe your father will wake up and pout about missing out on the gardens soon enough, and you are late for a pleasant dream about your little ex-lord."

"Mother," Derek scolded. "He's not mine… I mean, I haven't asked him to be mine… yet." Great. Now he was blushing again.

His mother chuckled and gently placed her hands on his cheeks, the way she used to do when he was a child. "And what exactly are you waiting for?" she asked. "An invitation?"

"I…" Derek couldn't believe what he was hearing. Sure, he knew he loved Stiles already and he wanted to spend the rest of his life with the younger man, but he'd thought his parents would put up more of a fight about it. "I wanted to get yours and father's blessing first."

"Consider it given." She leaned in and kissed his cheek. "Your father and I have been discussing the possibility of your choice since you left. We knew it had to be serious if you were willing to be in the same house as Lady Katherine Argent for a month."

It felt a bit like self-sabotage, but Derek had to say it anyway. "He has no prospects. He's virtually a commoner. In a way, it'll be like stealing from the Argents."

Talia Hale laughed loudly once. "That's almost better than a title," she joked, then sobered. "Derek, there are other ways to keep our title and lands in the family. We want you to be happy. You haven't been happy in such a long time."

Derek covered his mother's hands with his own. "I've been happy here with you and father," he said.

Pursing her lips, the countess shook her head. "No, my dear. You were existing. You were playing a role, fulfilling a duty. Watching you regain your vigor for life, even when it was just an interest in the morning post, has been such a joy for me. I will not let you fool yourself into thinking your duty must stop you from following your heart."

She was so well spoken and so kind. "Thank you," he said, and he meant it as 'I love you'. She smiled at him, and he knew the message got through.

* * *

The whole household was woken up the next morning by an absurdly early postal delivery. Even the servants were barely stirring when the bell rang again and again and again. By the time Boyd got to the door, Derek was awake and lazily pulling on his clothes. Only important messages were sent so early – as in, from someone in the royal family or emergencies in the county. As the heir apparent, Derek was used to the responsibility of answering these letters, or at least delivering the message to his father. With the Earl's current state, Derek would likely be in charge of the whole process.

Still, it was _absurdly_ early, and Derek had just been in the middle of a wonderful dream. Whomever had sent the missive had best be someone truly important, or Derek may be tempted to make the process take longer than required… as revenge.

Boyd met him on the staircase, letter held up for his inspection.

"Thank you," Derek murmured, speaking softly to hide the sleepy rumble in his voice. He just wanted to go back to bed, where he could continue dreaming he'd brought Stiles home with him.

Boyd nodded and left him standing on the stairs. Lazily, Derek leaned on the banister and pried open the letter. It bore the seal of a scribe and came from the Argent Estate, but the writing was unfamiliar to him. Not Stiles then. Perhaps Gerard's scribe instead?

 _To Lord Derek Hale,_

 _I write to inform you that a letter arrived for you at the Argent Estate from your uncle. It revealed the deception you tried to pull on our honorable family, and we are all sickened by your audacity. Of course, you are no longer welcome within our borders, by order of the Earl. If anyone recognizes you, or anyone in your family, in Gévaudan without an express invitation, the offender will be detained indefinitely. We hope we have made ourselves clear._

 _Do not bother coming to retrieve your lying lover. He has been dealt with in a manner that suited his many offenses. His blood repainted the lower landing, and his body has already been taken from the house. What ditch he's in now, we do not know, nor do we care. Were it not for your station, I assure you, you'd be joining him. For the disgusting sham you pulled, you'd deserve it. Twisting the arms of our Lady and Earl, fooling them into believing you were an honorable, upstanding lord, and all the while using them as mules. It's downright disgraceful._

 _If you're considering taking this letter to the court, know that the Earl has no part in its writing. You cannot prove or disprove anything written, and in the court of law my words would hold no water. I work for the betterment of the Earl, and my loyalty will not be swayed. I spit on you, though, Lord Hale. I spit all over your name and hope this brings you pain._

 _La Loba_

Derek didn't hear anything when he hit the stairs, and he didn't see anyone who came to check on the sound either. He just kept rereading the lines. 'His blood repainted the lower landing, and his body has already been taken.' No. No it couldn't be true.

"What's happened?"

Jerking his head up, Derek came eye to eye with his mother. She was bent over him on the steps, where he'd collapsed. He tried to speak, but it felt like the air had been stolen from him. In his hands, the letter shook. After a heavy swallow that felt like it got lodged in his throat, Derek managed air.

"We- We need to send someone to the Argent Estate," he said, trying to sound in charge but only managing a whisper. "Send a- a doctor. Maybe?"

Brow knitting together, the countess took the letter for herself. He watched her eyes scan the page, watched her frown deepen and bore into her usually lovely features. And all the while, he just kept thinking back to Stiles on the steps when he was leaving. Stiles had smiled, but Derek had barely risked a glance at him. Was that to be the last time he ever laid eyes on Stiles? That nervous half glance through the crowd of other nobles? No, it wasn't possible. Stiles couldn't-

His mother was up and calling for Boyd. Derek's hand numbly curled around a post in the banister, but his mind had not cleared yet and so he lacked the senses needed to stand. He stared at nothing, his mind reeling.

'I won't hold it against you if you don't come back.'

But Derek _was_ coming back! He was going to get Stiles out of that house, no matter the cost, and- He wanted to keep Stiles safe and- Stiles couldn't be gone. He couldn't be gone. The letter had to be a trick.

When his mother returned and tugged on his arms, Derek allowed himself to be led down the stairs. He shook his head. "Who is La Loba?" he murmured. "I don't recall a La Loba there."

"Sit down, my dear," Talia said, easing him onto a couch. "I've dispatched a man to the estate on our fastest horse. He will surely return by tonight and we will know the truth of the matter."

"It was Earl Gevadan," Derek growled lowly. "If anyone's hurt Stiles, it was him. If he's broken a single bone, I'll-"

The countess wrapped her arms around her son and pulled him close. She hushed him gently. "No need for that. Not yet." Her fingers were in his hair, but they didn't calm him. "But if the worst should come… I'll write to the queen directly. Someone must finally hold that man accountable for his actions."

If need be, Derek would raise his own army for the cause. But with his heart slamming anxiously in his rib cage and his mind spinning, he couldn't fathom how he'd even begin. For now he could only wait and pace and hope the messenger brought back good tidings.

* * *

Food held no appeal for Derek in his nervous state. Even the decadent spread they had laid out for dinner tasted like sawdust on his tongue. His eyes were constantly drawn to the sky outside. The sun had set and left barely a glow behind it. The messenger had not returned.

In the drawing room, he sat at the desk and rubbed his fingers across his aching forehead. He should have gone to the estate himself. Damn the need for propriety and sending word. He should have been the one to make the ride. And damn the logic that tried reminding him that he had not been fit for riding that morning and that the letter threatened any attempt.

God, he shouldn't have left Stiles behind. He should have come up with some excuse to bring him home. Anything! Or otherwise met him on the road and secreted him away. Damn all this waiting as they tried to do things the legal way. The Argents never waited.

As the sky became black, Derek could hear Stiles in his mind. 'I'll be okay,' Stiles said. 'I'm stronger than he thinks I am.' Damn, how many times had Stiles repeated those words? 'I'm okay.' 'I'm fine.' He wasn't fine at all! He was in pain, and he was on alert every moment of the day!

Derek had seen it every time they snuck away together. Stiles was always listening for eavesdroppers and keeping an eye out for movement. The only time he'd noticed Stiles just relax was… His chest hurt. The only time Stiles seemed relaxed was when Derek was kissing him in that dark study, and then again that last night when they'd had sex. He could take Stiles' mind off that terrible place, but it wasn't a fix.

Damn, why had he left him behind?

The knock came just after Laura retired to bed, so Derek answered the door. It was the messenger. He was breathless in haste, and his horse was ragged on the path. The countess waved the servants in its direction, and they instantly ran to tend to the beast. Derek had eyes only for their servant.

"Well?" he asked after giving the man plenty of time to catch his breath.

The man gave a brief shake of his head. "My apologies, my lord," he began, and Derek already felt his foundations crumbling. "I asked all around and everyone says the same thing. There was a great argument following the arrival of the post yesterday, just before lunch. They could hear the Earl and scribe shouting. But by the time anyone arrived on the scene, it was too late. Lord Argent took charge of… of moving the body, my lord." The manservant winced, noticing the expression on Derek's face that even Derek couldn't spare attention to. "My deepest condolences. I-"

Derek waved the man off but then turned and walked away first.

He held his breath until he reached the study, then locked himself inside. Only then, alone in the dark, did he choke. His knees hit the rug in the center of the room, and he shook his head back and forth. No. No, no, no.

'I just need a moment. Just- Just don't go anywhere, alright?' He remembered the squeeze of Stiles' hand in his as they sat against the stables.

Don't go anywhere. Don't go. "Don't go," Derek said in what little breath he could manage.

He couldn't handle it. His mind tried to conjure an image of Stiles' lifeless body being carried out, of the servants forced to clean up the blood, of Stiles being beaten to death. Every vision fell apart before it had halfway formed. He couldn't handle it.

Derek grabbed at his chest and gasped for air. This was entirely his fault. He'd written to his uncle, and it was his uncle's response that had led to the beating. He should have known his uncle had no tact, that he would not be careful with his words. And he should have known the Argents would not respect his privacy. He'd brought this pain, this outcome on Stiles.

Stiles' death was entirely his fault.

He cried in the dark study, and for two days following could not be prevailed upon to be of any use to anyone.

* * *

 _Several Weeks Later._

The days had begun to blur. Derek was functioning. Derek was doing his job. Derek felt hollow.

After their father had regained his strength, Laura and her family had returned to their own country home, but not before Laura gave Derek the longest embrace he could ever remember receiving. By then Derek had extricated himself from solitude, but he was not the man he'd been before the news, or even the man from before the letters from Stiles had begun. He was despondent, even when he tried to smile for his family. He'd never been so reclusive and hard to speak to. Even servants who liked him a fair bit more than they should stayed out of his way.

But at least he was functioning. Right?

"I'm trying," he said one day when his father found him in the study again. Derek's head rested in one hand, the other holding a pen.

"I know," the Earl said, not unkindly. "And I know I'm not as eloquent as your mother, but I'll try too. Derek, you're doing a marvelous job as my second, but you must understand that grief will not leave you simply because you try to ignore it. When my father died, well… Sometimes it still overwhelms me."

"Grandfather died twelve years ago," Derek mumbled, confusion clouding his brow. His eyes were on the document before him, but his mind was doing the math. If his father still ached for his grandfather, then-

The Earl nodded solemnly. "Yes. Loss never truly leaves us be," he said. He was standing much like a soldier, as if the posture would give him strength. "You can't prepare for that, but I wanted you to know. So… – So don't try to rush the process. You're doing a fine job."

It wasn't rousing or even particularly helpful, and yet Derek responded with, "Thank you, father." He knew the man meant well, and maybe those words would be a comfort later in life. For now, it was hard to think of a time when his every empty moment wasn't filled with grief and guilt.

"Yes, well, that's not all I came in to speak to you about," the Earl admitted. He rubbed his nose, a sure sign of his embarrassment. But embarrassed about what? "A reporter is due to visit today. I've been meaning to warn you, but the timing never seemed quite right. His report is about the county affairs – how public works are coming along, any new additions to the Hale family, that sort of business. It shouldn't be too painful, and we'll all be sitting for it together. That being said, if any of the questions are too much for you, your mother or I will take charge of them. And by that, I mean your mother. She's better at noticing that sort of thing."

That sounded more like his father, and Derek actually managed to smile. "Thank you," he said again, meaning it this time.

Speaking to a reporter was not something he enjoyed much on a regular day, and he only assumed it would be worse in his current mental state. Still, it was part of the job and he couldn't avoid it.

These days, Derek preferred to work as much as possible. It kept him distracted. However, in preparation for the reporter, he finished up early and went to become presentable. One servant drew his bath while another helped him choose an outfit. When he finished bathing, he was helped into his clothes and even handed the comb he used to fix his hair. All of the help was normal, of course, but ever since returning home from the Argent Estate, Derek took more notice of all the luxury afforded him by his position and wealth. These were luxuries Stiles had not had, perhaps even when he had been the son of a Baron. Had Stiles known the title was still his, he may have preferred to do many of these menial tasks on his own anyway.

Derek glanced to the desk in his room, where a note from his uncle was still folded up on the corner. It had been there for weeks: the letter explaining that Stiles had never lost his title, that his imprisonment – er, employment – with the Argents was a sham. It was the letter mailed to the Argent Estate, which had eventually been forwarded, seal broken, to the Hale House. The lord sighed.

As usual, Stiles haunted his wandering thoughts. He needed to get a handle on things if he was to be coherent during the interview.

As Derek descended the stairs, a knock came at the door. Boyd answered it and graciously accepted the letter from a postman. The dark man's eyes scanned the address as he shut the door, and when he looked up he saw Derek stepping onto the bottom floor.

"Perfect timing, my lord. A letter for you." He held the envelope out.

"Thank you." Derek took it in his hands and banished the worry that accompanied the motion. The last time he'd gotten a personal letter, it held terrible news. But this time he did recognize the script. It was from his sister Cora.

 _Dear Derek,_

 _You will never believe what I'm about to tell you, but I will tell you anyway. My lady heard a rumor recently about a particularly talented actor residing in County Posey, so we travelled south to see the man in action. At the conclusion of the play, she sent for him and offered him to audition for the royal theater troupe. But that is not the point of my letter, obviously. You don't care about some actor._

 _What will entice you, brother, is that I spotted a very familiar face in the local Baron's box. Believe that I would never lie to you. It was your scribe, Stiles! He walked with a slight limp, but he was most certainly alive! The many reports of his demise are obviously exaggerations!_

 _Of course, I had my lady send for him, and I threatened to end his life myself because of the pain he's put you through. Be proud of me that I restrained myself, because it was not easy. He claims to have been writing to you this past month, but we both know you have received nothing. I'm not sure if I believe him. I do, however, believe his anger when he got defensive about you. He believes you have slighted him and told me to deliver a message to you._

 _I'm sorry, Derek, but he does not want to see you. It is his wish that you do not come to Posey to see him. I would suggest you write to him, but I'm not familiar with his temper. Would he consider that against the order not to visit? If it were me, I'd write either way. If it were me, we both know I'd go anyway. But I know you, and you won't go against him. You're a fool, but I understand where you're mind is at. Even if you can't go to him, I needed you to know that he is alive._

 _Stiles isn't dead, Derek. He survived Earl Gévaudan. Don't be a fool forever. Take this second chance for what it is before I must kill both of you to spare the world of your idiocy._

 _With Love,_

 _Cora Hale_

 _P.s. Another odd note. I swear when we last wrote, you said our uncle discovered Stiles was a Baron. He was dressed fine enough for the position at the theater, but he acted as though any sort of noble address was inaccurate. Either your scribe is the most humble man in existence (unlikely) or he still has yet to be informed of the news. Perhaps you should visit and enlighten him. I'm certain that would shock him twice over._

Derek couldn't breathe. He tried to read the whole letter over again, to make sure he hadn't missed anything, but his eyes kept jumping to the end where the revelation was short and simple. 'Stiles isn't dead.'

Stiles wasn't dead! He was alive and in Posey! If the letter had not been from his sister, he would have doubted every word, but Cora was not a joker and she was the only other Hale to have seen Stiles in person. If she said it was Stiles, then he believed her.

He had questions about many things Cora wrote: Stiles wrote letters? He had a limp? What was he wearing? Did he look healthy? Happy? Who was he with? Where was he living? – But he didn't have time to write a response, and he couldn't concentrate to pick out the more important questions anyway. His mind buzzed with elation, a level of which he had not experienced in weeks.

Stiles was alive.

He covered his face with his hand, trying to hold himself together when he wanted to burst into rays of sunlight, but he left his eyes unobstructed. He needed to read the words a few dozen more times. He wanted to soak them into his soul.

"Are you alright, dear?" His mother stepped up to his side, concern on her face. When Derek pulled his hand away, she saw the smile trying to crack his face in two and her worry turned into surprise. "What on Earth-?"

Derek handed the letter over, but he spoke before she could actually notice anything but the handwriting. "Stiles is alive," he said.

The countess gasped. "For certain?"

"Cora swears it to be true. She's spoken to him." His stomach was knotting with excitement and he ran a shaking hand over his face.

"Well this is wonderful news!" His mother moved to embrace him but he shook his head to stop her.

"No. I mean yes, it is. But he doesn't wish to see me." One problem was replaced by another. Why was life so complicated? He shook his head again. "Never mind that. This is brilliant news. After the interview, I'll send out some inquires. I'll… I'll come up with a plan of action."

His mother reached up and cupped his cheek. "That's my son," she said fondly. "Win his heart back. And this time, bring him home to meet the family."

"As you command, Mother," he said fondly.

The reporter arrived a few minutes later, and Boyd led the man into the sitting room. The Hales residing in the house were relaxing there, waiting – Derek in a chair and his parents sharing the couch. They were thanked for their time, precious as it was, and then the questions begun without further ado. All three Hales took turns answering questions – Derek with more interest and vigor than anyone had expected.

Then came the section of questioning the elder Hales had dreaded originally.

"Lord Hale, you're set to inherit, am I correct?"

"If my father were to leave us, I believe I am ready to take over his duties. But hopefully that will not be for many years." Derek glanced at his parents, and his father gave a self-satisfied nod.

"Of course, of course. But with all due respect, Sir, you're not getting any younger either. You have recently celebrated your thirty-second birthday, if I'm not mistaken. Are you not courting? Plans for marriage? Could there be a countess in the near future?" The weasel of a man leaned precariously forward on his seat, his every attention on Derek.

Normally the questioning would have grated on Derek's short nerves, but today was different. His mind instantly swirled back to the letter from his sister. 'Stiles is alive.' If he could win Stiles' affections again, there was every possibility that Stiles could join their household for good. Derek had already received his parents' approval.

He smiled slightly, his eyes not seeing the reporter. "I do have my mind on marriage these days," he admitted. His father badly hid a surprised choke as a cough. No doubt the statement came as a surprise from his lately despondent son. Derek had neglected to update his father before the interview. Oh well. His mother was smiling.

The response sent the reporter into a tizzy of excitement, and he scribbled something furiously on his paper. "Ah, and may I inquire as to the lucky lady, or- or lord?"

"You may not," Derek responded, easy going. "And I would request that you not speculate either. I assure you, no one you ask will have any useful information on the subject."

No one outside of his family knew of his affections for Stiles, and most had no knowledge of the scribe to begin with. Derek had heard no new information about county Goodwater, so even over there people were uninformed.

The interviewer asked a few more questions, trying to gain insight into the matter, but Derek was short and unhelpful in his responses. Eventually the questions returned to the current Earl and Duchess and their business ventures. This allowed Derek to sit and soak in the information of Stiles' exaggerated death.

Stiles did not yet know he was a Baron. Soon, however, someone would tell him, because someone was clearly priming him for society if he was dressed as a gentleman at the theater. Perhaps once he was healed from whatever gave him the limp, perhaps when he was more settled, perhaps a lot of things needed to happen first, but eventually that someone would tell Stiles the truth. Stiles would go to reclaim his county, his inheritance, his birthright.

And Derek would be there to help. He made a mental note to discover how county Goodwater was currently operating. Then he, or maybe his father, would write a letter to whomever was in charge. When Stiles went to claim his property, the good word of an Earl would help smooth the complaints and show Stiles had support.

Derek smiled. An Earl's word would, indeed, be nice, but he could think of one thing better. Stiles had helped a duchess, a duchess who was now aware of Stiles' lineage and title. If an Earl's word could ease a transition of power, a Duchess' word could silence all objections and ensure the transition completely. When this interview was over, Derek would write back to his sister and to Duchess Roden as well.

He had a lot to do, and he wasn't sure how long he had to do it. But Stiles was alive, and he wasn't going to let that opportunity pass by. He'd failed Stiles before. Now it was time to do everything in his power to help him.

And if Stiles still had feelings for him… that would just make everything that much brighter.


End file.
